Help! The Butter Dish is Attacking Me!
by charmingly-holly
Summary: COMPLETE. Ginny isn't a happy camper. What with a HalfNakedFlyingDwarf following her around, butterdishes and mashed potatoes forming conspiracies against her, and the eminent doom her eyebrows are facing, Valentine's is looking pretty shabby.
1. Of Evil Butter Dishes and Rampaging Bull

_A/N: This was my first ever fanfic. Looking back, I realize that as wonderful as I thought it was at the time…there is much room for improvement. It is also corny as hell in some parts. I cringe reading some of this. However, the plot is humorous, and a lot of people liked it. So, at the moment, I suppose I'll reserve judgment and let it stew a bit before I decide to completely delete it._

Help! The Butter Dish is Attacking Me!

Of Evil Butter Dishes and Rampaging Bulls

"Stupid, Ginny! Stupid Ginny! Stupid, stupid, stupid, Ginny!"

I was sitting in a chair at the end of the Burrow's kitchen table engaging in the perfectly normal activity of…banging my head against the wood...repeatedly.

Why, you might ask? Obviously, something must have happened to put me in such a state as to where I felt compelled to subject my forehead to such torture.

Considering that this _is_ the Burrow, the Weasely family _does _live here, and they _do_ tend to be slightly insane, you might only be slightly surprised. And if you know _me_ personally, you might not be surprised at all. In fact, you might not even notice. My temper matches my hair…it's fiery. So, I am often found doing strange things such as introducing my forehead to rather hard, solid objects.

But this particular bout of insanity was unique. Even for me. I hadn't been jinxed, hexed, or poisoned in the previous twenty-four hours, the entirety of my _six_ overprotective _gits_ of brothers were off doing Merlin-knew-what at their jobs, _and_ I had recently found out that I was being hired to the staff of _Witch Weekly_, the most popular magazine in the wizarding world. So, why? Why would I be banging my head against the table in this time of seemingly happiness?

Well, I'll tell you. Three words...Harry bloody Potter. Yes, that's right ladies and gentleman, the boy-who-lived, the-man-who-defied, the-bringer-of-peace, the-man-who-defeated-you-know-who (I could go on forever, but…I digress). And once again, Why? What had Harry done that had forced me, little Ginny Weasely, to give myself a headache?

The answer…he said "Hey, Gin." That's it. Two words. TWO BLOODY WORDS! And do you know what the effect of those two words was on me? DO YOU? I, a TWENTY-ONE year old witch, stuck my elbow in the BUTTER DISH!

But that wasn't what really set me off. Oh no, not even close, it gets worse. See, here's the thing. Until that day, that very second when Harry toppled out of the fireplace, stood up, straightened his glasses, smiled, and opened his mouth to say those two disastrous words, I had managed to convince myself that I did not, under any circumstances, still have feelings for the boy-who-lived, the man-who-defied, the…right, you get the picture.

So, that was the reason for my frustration. After 8 years of successfully convincing myself that I didn't fancy Harry Potter. After 8 years of not melting on the spot when I looked into his emerald-green eyes. After 8 years of intense training on not doing stupid things like putting my elbow in the butter dish whenever he was around, what did I do? I PUT MY BLOODY ELBOW IN THE BLOODY BUTTER DISH WHILE HE WAS BLOODY AROUND!

And you know what else? You know what else I did? What other humiliation I put myself through? Well, I'll tell you…I stared. And I blushed. Stared and blushed, did not even say hello. Not a cheerful "Hi Harry! How are you?" Not a distracted, " 'Lo Harry. Why're you here." Not even a grunt. Not a sound, not one peep, just a stare. And I stared for about a minute before he waved a hand in front of my face saying, "Gii-iin? Anybody home?"

And you know what I did? It's horrible. It's humiliating. I won't tell you…I can't…I can't write it down. It's too utterly atrocious to even put on parchment. I won't crack, not even if I'm under the Imperious Curse. Not even if you make me swallow Veritaserum. You can't make me…alright, you can, but only because I know you'll attack me if I don't tell you now that I've lead you on so much…so, I'll tell you…I squeaked, jumped about ten feet in the air, and then I toppled off the chair backwards, sending the butter dish flying. And you know where it landed? Right smack dab in the middle of my face. And then you know what I did? I blushed. A lot. It was a full-fledged Weasely blush. My entire body was blushing. I was like one, giant, incredibly red…me…with margarine on my face. If I had started yelling Toro! Toro, I'm pretty much positive that all of the bulls in England would have come charging at me…not that there are any bulls in England, but you get the point.

And to top it off, you know what Harry did? He laughed. Hard. He was gripping the back a chair crying he was laughing so hard. And me? I just blushed some more, saying absolutely nothing and not moving. And then, when he calmed down enough, he straightened saying, "Merlin Gin, what _is_ it with you and butter dishes?" which made me blush some more as I recalled that humiliating experience way back in first year…cringe.

So then he looked at my mother's clock, saw that Ron's spoon was pointing at work, and walked back to the fireplace, stepping over me because I hadn't moved one inch since the incident. Yes, this meant that the butter dish was still stuck to my face. He looked down at me, chuckled, and said, "See ya around, Gin…Oh, and tell your mum I'm coming to dinner tonight…The Ministry of Magic!" and he disappeared in a whirl of green flames.

So that's when I realized that I was still on the floor, blushing like mad, with a butter dish on my face. I slowly got back into my chair, wiped my face on my sleeve, and promptly began beating my forehead on the table.

"Stupid Ginny! Stupid Ginny! Stupid, stupid, stupid Ginny!"

_A/N: Review!_


	2. Of HalfNaked Flying Dwarves

Of Half-Naked Flying Dwarves

After ten minutes of continually torturing my forehead, my head started hurting too much to bang it on the table anymore.

So, I raised my head slowly, rubbing the large red circle in the middle of my forehead. And then…I looked at my watch. Crap! I had ten minutes to get to work. Bloody brilliant!

Harry flew from my mind as I scrambled around collecting my things together and throwing them on the kitchen table. I threw my hair back haphazardly, gathering up all my notebooks, magazines, papers, etc. to my chest. I lifted my leg up, using it to balance my papers on while I snagged my travel coffee mug and balanced it precariously atop the teetering pile. I glanced at the clock on the wall. My spoon was pointing to "About to be Late." I cringed and looked around frantically for my wand, I was going to be fired on the third week of the job. My wand was lying on the counter next to the toaster. I scrambled over to it, bent down, and picked it up with my teeth. Then I ran to the fireplace, and stopped, staring at the Floo powder.

How in Hades was I going to throw that powder into the fireplace? There was no way to use my hands as one wrong move would send the pile toppling. So, I stood there, desperately looking from the flower pot with the Floo powder in it, to the fireplace, to the clock, where my spoon had moved to "You're Gonna Get Fired if You Don't Get a Move On," and back, racking my brain for ideas.

In pure desperation, I stared at the Floo powder, willing it to fly into the fireplace on its own. Of course, it wasn't working. So, I stared harder, and began to advance towards the flower pot menacingly, hoping that it might get scared and throw itself into the fire. Surprisingly, it worked. Unsurprisingly, it wasn't because it was scared. It was because I tripped on a loose board, and in my effort to remain on my feet while keeping the tottering pile balanced, knocked the flower pot over. Some of the powder flew through the air and landed in the fire, causing green flames to leap up. The rest ended up either in my hair or up my nose.

I managed to stay on my feet, jump in the fire, spit out my wand, and yell, WITCH WEEKLY OFFICES, before I began sneezing. Surprisingly, I got spit out at the correct fireplace. Unsurprisingly, I landed flat on my face, my papers flying around me, and my coffee spilling down my front. Luckily, my wand had managed to stay with me and was not currently shooting out of someone's fireplace in Bora Bora.

Anywho, I grabbed my wand waved it at all my papers and things, and pointed it towards a cubicle across the room. They shot towards the cubicle. I sprinted after them and dove into the little space.

Why, you might be wondering, was I in such a hurry to get to my cubicle when I had already arrived at work? Well, I'll tell you…see, my boss, an evil, ugly old hag who always, _always, _wore a navy blue pantsuit with HUGE brass buttons running down it, Mrs. Bartleby, had this rule that getting to work on time meant getting to your cubicle on time and being in the process of doing something productive the moment the clock struck nine o'clock. She went so far as to place little miniature versions of herself on our desks that screeched, "You're late, you're late!" at the top of their squeaky little voices until the real Mrs. Bartleby came running to reprimand you. Or fire me, of course, as I was new on the job and she hated me.

Why did she hate me, you ask? Because the twins had tried to get her to let them advertise in the magazine and she wouldn't let them. Needless to say, they didn't take too kindly to this treatment, and sent her a few "gifts" in the mail, one of which being a portable swamp that went off the instant she opened the package, trapping her in a repulsive smelling quagmire in the middle of her office. The swamp was charmed to keep her in there until she agreed to let them advertise in the magazine. And since she is now out of the swamp and I am working for her, she obviously agreed to the Dynamic Duo's terms, albeit unwillingly. It's a miracle I even got hired. I think the twins were in on that as well. I think they threatened to do something drastic like permanently change all of her navy blue pantsuits bright pink if she was prejudiced against me.

But on with the story, I dove into my cubicle, grabbed the top packet of papers that had arrived before me, got out a quill, and began to edit the article, right as the little miniature Mrs. Bartleby was taking a giant breath to start screeching. She stopped mid screech, making a strangled sound and promptly began coughing. I smirked at her, and turned back to my editing, still breathing rather heavily and feeling rather uncomfortable as there were excessive amounts of Floo powder in my hair and a wet streak of coffee down my blouse.

Since I was new on the job, I got the unpleasant task of proofreading drafts of articles written by all the writers of _Witch Weekly_ before the articles went on to the chief editors. I had to check for run-on sentences and whatnot. It was incredibly boring, and usually, I edited everything quickly and then passed the time talking to my friends in the cubicles around me or reading. But, as mini Bartleby was watching me intently instead of dozing off like she normally did once I began working, I thought it best to appear to be absorbed in my work. The little eyesore not only screeched when I was late, she also reported to big Bartleby telling her if I was working hard or not. The little pipsqueak. There had been many a time when I had fantasized about squashing her with the dictionary on the side of my desk until she was nothing more than an ugly, navy and white blob.

So, there I was, minding my own business, editing some article about the correct way to make the most effective Ear-Wax-Be-Gone potion (all I have to say is, ew…double ew.) when the file cabinet in the corner of my cubicle shook. I peered at it, wondering if maybe I had just imagined it. But then it shook again, and this time there was a muffled growl coming from it. My eyes widened, and I grabbed my wand. Maybe it was a boggart. Oh, that would have been just dandy. The perfect way to continue with my already horrible day, a troop of evil clowns barging through my cubicle. I am petrified of clowns. They absolutely terrify me, and I would rather not talk about them, thank you very much.

I continued to stare at the cabinet, wondering if I should go ahead and open it or just levitate it across the room so I wouldn't have to deal with it. The latter would probably get me into trouble, so I decided I would just open it and get it over with. So, I cautiously approached the cabinet, wand at the ready. It shook again, and I jumped, but I kept reaching for the handle. I hesitated slightly, and then I yanked it open, turned around and leaped under my desk, hands over my head, and wand pointing towards the cabinet. Alright, so I wasn't exactly displaying my Gryffindor courage at the moment, but come on! We were talking about _clowns_ here! I was terrified, and you would have been too if you're twin brothers had turned your pillow into one when you were little and you had woken up with it latched to your head, pulling your hair, and laughing maniacally. So there, you can stop laughing at my phobia now.

But, I stray from the topic. I cowered under my desk for a full minute before I realized that apparently, nothing had happened. I slowly opened my eyes and peered out from under my arms. There, about two inches in front of my face, was the scowling face of a bearded man. I yelped and jumped up, banging my head against the bottom of my desk.

"Ow!" I yelled, rubbing the back of my head. Then I remembered the ugly man and looked around frantically, waving my wand around. But he was gone. I relaxed, figuring I had just imagined him and turned around to sit down. I yelped again. The man's face was once again two inches from mine.

He grimaced when I yelped, "Would you stop doing that? You're giving me a headache," he growled. I just gaped at him. He had moved back and I had realized that he wasn't a man at all. He was a dwarf…a _flying_ dwarf. And he was wearing what looked like a pair of boxers with little red and pink hearts zooming around on them. To top it off, he held a golden bow in one hand and a heart-tipped arrow in the other. The rest of the arrows were strapped on his back in one of those…arrow-holder thingies. He looked like a demented version of…but it couldn't be, there was no bloody way it was…

"Yes, alright? I'm Cupid, the bloody son of bloody Aphrodite, yeah, that's me, the bringer of love. You got a problem with that?" he said menacingly, still scowling at me. I decided I should say something.

"Erm…no, no problem. But, erm…what're you…doing…here?" I had begun to think that it was about time to check myself in to the Psyche Ward of St. Mungo's.

He scowled some more, "Helping you realize your feelings towards you're one true love," he said this as if it were poison. He seemed thoroughly disgusted with the idea.

Yep, I was pretty sure it was time to call St. Mungo's. "Right, well…ummmm…why, exactly?" I asked. I was rather confused. And my head hurt. It had been banged around a lot that day.

"What are you, stupid?" he asked. I was slightly taken aback. I mean, I thought my question to be perfectly reasonable. It's not every day a half-naked dwarf pops out of you're filing cabinet saying he's Cupid, even if he's only a figment of you're imagination. "It's four days till bloody _Valentine's Day_," he said the name with revulsion, "and you won't admit you're feelings towards you're one true love. So now I'm here to guide you're way down the path of love," he then looked up and yelled, "I'm doing my bloody job! Are you _happy_ now, mother?" He seemed to receive some sort of answer because he snorted, crossed his arms, and looked at me again, saying nothing more.

Yep, call out the men in white! I had officially lost my gobstones!


	3. Of Conspiring Cupids Called Butch

Don't own anything...except Sandra, but she's not all that important. So ya, I would _like_ to own Harry Potter and be richer than the good old Queen of England, but I don't. sniffle. Anyways, on with the story!

Of Conspiring Cupids Called Butch

After standing in one place, staring at the little man hovering in front of me for a while, I decided that I should at least figure out if maybe, by some chance, he was real. I mean, come on, I didn't exactly _want_ to go to St. Mungo's Psyche. That would mean living with Gilderoy Lockhart, and I did _not_ want to deal with his obsession with signing autographs. And, come to think of it, nor did I want to be blinded by his teeth. Especially after first year. I mean, hello, he almost obliviated Harry and Ron while they were trying to save me! He's not exactly on my good side, and I'm not sure if I could restrain myself from Bat-Bogeying him from here until next Tuesday.

Right, so, I figured that in order to find out if he was real or not, I needed to find another person and ask them if they could see him. I looked at the mini-Bartleby on the corner of my desk. She was, amazingly, sleeping. I decided that I didn't really want to deal with her, especially if the little man did turn out to be a figment of my imagination. I would be fired for sure. Mrs. Bartleby didn't like crazy people on her staff. Not that I blamed her.

So, I peeked over the wall of my cubicle to my neighbor, Sandra Cummings', little office. She was leaning back in her chair, eyes closed, snoring loudly. Her mini-Bartleby was doing the same, minus the chair.

"Pssst!" I said, glancing around to make sure no one was watching me. Sandra didn't move. She just snored louder.

"Psssssst!" I tried again. It didn't work.

Okay, maybe I shouldn't have expected it to work. Sandra could sleep through just about anything. It was amazing. Like this one time, some witch was working on a story about the best clothes cleaning spell, and she ended up setting fire to her robes. She was running around screaming, forgetting that all she had to do was shoot some water at herself out of her wand. Anyways, we were all chasing her, shooting our own water spouts at her, when someone missed and hit a sleeping Sandra. She didn't wake up. She just snorted, and turned over. But the second Mrs. Bartleby entered the scene, Sandra was wide awake, pretending to have been awake the whole time. It was uncanny. It was like she had a Bartleby radar that went off when Mrs. Bartleby was coming.

So, I moved to plan B. I turned around, grabbed my dictionary, opened it, and then slammed it shut right beside her ear. She didn't move.

"Ugh!" I said, frustrated. I frowned, trying to think of a way to wake Sandra without causing her bodily harm. That's when I got an excellent idea.

I smiled evilly, and turned back to Sandra. Time for Plan C. I then cleared my throat, opened my mouth and did my Bartleby-on-the-rampage impression. In case you are wondering, I have an unnaturally good ability to impersonate people. My Bartleby-on-the-rampage impression is second only to my Umbridge one.

"Miss Cummings! May I ask _why_ you are _sleeping_ while you are supposed to be writing an article on the top ten most romantic places to be this Valentine's Day!" I screeched.

Sandra's eyes snapped open and she immediately launched into an explanation. "Well, you see, Mrs. Bartleby, I was only imagining myself in this restaurant that is supposed to be really romantic, and…" she trailed off when she saw me. "Giinnny! What'd you do that for?" she whined, rubbing her eyes.

"I have a problem, and I need your help." I told her matter-of-factly. Then I turned around and grabbed Cupid's leg, dragging him up so that Sandra could see him.

"Hey!" he said indignantly. He opened his mouth to continue, but I clamped my hand over it. He growled.

I turned to Sandra, who was looking at me like I was absolutely crazy. "Can you see the ugly little flying dwarf beside me?" I asked her. Sandra's eyes widened, and she shook her head.

That's when Cupid bit me. "Ow!" I yelled, snatching my hand away and shaking it. It was bleeding. "What'd you do that for, Cupid?"

Cupid glowered at me. "Listen lady," he said, "We need to go over some ground rules here. Firstly, do not, ever, under any circumstances, touch me. Secondly, do not, ever, under any circumstances, call me Cupid. You may, however, call me Butch. Thirdly, I do not want to be here, I am forced to be here, and the sooner you admit your feelings to your one true love, the sooner I get out of your hair. And fourthly, (A/N: is that even a word?) she can't see me. Only you can see me."

I spluttered at him, "What do you mean only I can see you?"

He just looked at me, "Because only you can see me," he said as if he were trying to explain something to a rather stupid small child.

"Why?"

"Cuz, my _dear _mother assigned me to you, so only you can see me. If anyone else could see me, they would probably attack me with requests to shoot their crushes in the butt with one of my arrows so that they would fall in love and live _happily ever after_." He didn't sound like he too much believed in happily ever after. "You, however, are _special_ as my mother puts it, because you have found your one true love, and she has decided that it is meant to be."

I just looked at him suspiciously. "You're just a figment of my imagination," I said.

He rolled his eyes and was about to retort when Sandra spoke up. "Ummm, Ginny? Are you feeling alright?" she asked.

I turned to her. "Yes, that's the problem. I am feeling absolutely fine, and yet, I am still seeing this little flying man. AND, he is talking to me. I'm thinking this is not normal. I'm thinking that I am going crazy," by now I was starting to hyperventilate. The truth of the whole situation was closing in on me. "I'm crazy, Sandra," I said, "Nutters, bonkers, around the bend, mad, afflicted in the head. I don't want to be crazy. I liked it when I wasn't crazy. I don't want to go to St. Mungo's! Oh my gosh, I'm going to have to leave the Burrow! I'm never going to see any of my friends again. They're never going to come visit me in the hospital and I'll be all alone, with no one to talk to but Cupid, here! And Lockhart will make me help him sign autographs, and, ohmygosh! They don't have any Ben and Jerry's ice cream! (A/N: Let's just pretend they have Ben and Jerry's alright?) And I'm going to walk around mooning everyone because they are going to make me wear one of those hospital gowns with no backs…"

That's when Sandra said, "Silencio!" and I could no longer speak. She looked at me, "Ginny, you are not going to St. Mungo's because you are not crazy," she said.

I mouthed the words, "I'm not?" at her, feeling slightly relieved. Maybe I wasn't crazy. No, I had to be, I was seeing little men dressed in boxers with hearts on them claiming to be Cupid! That was definitely NOT NORMAL!

Apparently Sandra sensed that I still didn't believe her, so she said, "Look Ginny, I've heard of this before. I read somewhere that sometimes a Cupid is assigned to someone who has found their soul mate, but can't admit their feelings to them. They are supposed to bring them together because it is meant to be."

I motioned to her to undo her silencing charm. She waved her wand at me and said, "Finite."

I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "Where, exactly, did you read this?" I asked her, hoping to Merlin that she wasn't about to say…

"The Quibbler," she mumbled, looking down.

Bloody hell, she said it.

"The Quibbler?" I said incredulously, "You read it in The QUIBBLER? Oh Merlin, I'm _doomed_!" I cried. I was slightly hysterical now.

"Ginny, I know you don't believe any of that stuff they write about, but think about it. They could be right. It's your only hope!" she said.

"Oh, way to make me feel better!" I said sarcastically. That's when Butch decided to enter the conversation.

"Hey lady!" he said. I turned to him. "You're not crazy. Well, you might be, I don't know. But that one," he gestured at Sandra, "is right. I'm a Cupid, and no one but you can see me. So, stop freaking out because it is only adding to the headache that you have already given me!"

I looked at him suspiciously, and suddenly, a light bulb went off in my head. "FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY, YOU COME OUT HERE RIGHT NOW! THAT WAS NOT A FUNNY JOKE!" I bellowed. Butch clamped his hands over his ears, and Sandra clamped a hand over my mouth.

"Merlin Ginny, you're gonna get us killed by Bartleby!" she hissed into my ear. I shoved her hand off and stalked over to the fireplaces at the other end of the offices. I threw in some Floo powder, shoved my head in and yelled, "WEASLEY'S WIZARD WHEEZES!"

Their shop appeared, and Fred and George were standing behind the counter, tinkering with something that looked slightly dangerous. "Fred and George Weasley, you two are in HUGE trouble. You come here and take away this stupid dwarf right now or I'm gonna Bat-Bogey you until there is no tomorrow!" I screamed. Both of them noticeably jumped.

"Merlin, Ginny, you sound _exactly_ like Mum sometimes," said Fred or George.

"No kidding, Ginners, sometimes I think you might be turning into her," said the other one.

"I DO NOT CARE IF I AM LIKE MUM OR NOT!" I screamed, "I CARE ABOUT THIS STUPID DWARF THAT IS FOLLOWING ME AROUND!"

They looked confused. "Dwarf? What dwarf?" they said in unison.

And that made me realize something. They were in their store, and the dwarf was in my office. They NEVER played a joke and didn't wait around and watch the results. "Oh…my…gosh," I said. "Bloody stupid hell." And then I pulled my head out of the fireplace. Sandra and Butch were watching me. Sandra looking worried and Butch looking annoyed. I looked at him, "You're real." I said.

He just looked at me, saying nothing. Sandra, however, was practically shaking with excitement. "Oh my gosh, Ginny! You have a soul mate! Ooooo, this is wonderful!" Then she gasped, "Omygosh! Who is it? Who are you in love with?" She gasped again as realization hit her, "It's Harry isn't it?"

I jumped and stared at her, my mouth hanging open, "N-n-no!"

"Oh, you are such a bad liar, Ginny," she said, "It is. I always thought you never got over him. This is great! Now you can tell him how you feel! Where is he? He's an Auror, right? So, he'll probably be at the Ministry. Come on!" she said, grabbing my hand and leading me towards the fireplaces again.

I snatched my hand away and yelled, "NO! Sandra, I can't tell him! No, no, no. That is a baaaad idea. Besides, I'm not in love with anyone"

"What are you talking about? You have a _Cupid_, Ginny. That means he's your soul mate. Aphrodite doesn't just send random Cupids like everyone thinks, you know. She only does it if it is meant to be."

"Well, apparently she made a mistake because I'm not in love with anyone." I said, walking back towards my cubicle.

Butch stopped me, flying in front of me and blocking my way into my cubicle, "Oh well then I suppose that the butter dish just attacked you this morning on its own free will?" he asked.

I froze, "How did you know about that?" I asked, turning red.

He looked at me like I was stupid. "I'm a Cupid. I know about everything concerning you and Mr. Potter. It's my freaking job." And then he added, "I even know you're dreams. I particularly like the one you had the other night where you accidentally on purpose walked in on him in the shower and then got stuck in the bathroom with him. You have a very creative imagination Mrs. Weasely."

I turned bright red. "That was only a dream. It didn't mean anything. I was just a little stressed or something." Butch just looked at me.

That's when Sandra spoke up again, "Right, well, apparently your Cupid is handling this, so I'm gonna get back to work," she started to walk off, but then turned again, "Oh, and Cupid? If you feel like shooting any of those arrows at people, you could always aim one at Bobby McFarlane over there for me," she pointed to a man sitting in a cubicle on the far side of the room, "And if you need any help with Ginny there, I'm more than willing to kidnap her and lock her in a closet with Harry until she admits her feelings. I've always wanted to do that." With that, she turned on her heel and strode into her cubicle.

I glared after her and then pushed past Butch and into my own cubicle. He followed, sitting on the file cabinet that he had popped out of. "Right," he said, "So where is he so I can shoot him and be done with it?" he asked.

I whipped around to face him, "You are _not_ going to shoot, Harry," I said, "If he is going to love me back, he is going to do it on his own."

"Ah hah! So you admit that you love him! Strike up the band," he said. I clamped my hand over my mouth.

"NO!" I said, "I meant…I meant…_hypothetically_ if I loved Harry, which I _don't_…then…he…you…" I trailed off. I had crashed and burned, and I knew it.

Butch glared at me, "Stop with the denial thing. I told you, the sooner you admit it, the sooner I'm gone. And trust me, I would much rather be somewhere else right now. Like Mexico. Or Hawaii. Do you know how cold it gets in these stupid boxers?"

I was about to retort when Sandra popped her head over the cubicle wall, "Bartleby's coming, so stop talking to dwarf-boy," she said, and then she disappeared back behind the wall.

I immediately grabbed my quill and began pretend editing. Mrs. Bartleby appeared a few seconds later.

"Ginevra, I have decided to give you an assignment," she screeched.

I gaped at her, "An assignment? Like an article?" I asked excitedly. My first assignment!

She narrowed her eyes at me, "Don't go thinking that I think you deserve this. Because I do not."

"What do you mean?" I asked, confused. Why else would she give me an assignment?

She sighed, "The only reason you get this assignment is because you know Harry Potter," she said.

I choked, "Ha-Harry

Potter?"

"Yes. He has declined all the offers of interviews from other magazines, claiming he does not want the publicity. However, since you know him, you can make him give us an interview as a favor to you, as he's your friend."

"What? No, I can't do that!" I said, horrified. I wanted to stay as far away from Harry as possible while Butch was around.

She glared at me, "You have to, or you will be fired for disobedience," she declared.

I gaped at her, "That's blackmail!" I said furiously.

She just raised her pencil-thin eyebrows at me in challenge.

I sighed resignedly, "Fine," I said, "What kind of interview?"

"It's for the Valentine's Day special edition," I didn't like the sound of that, "Here's your list of questions." She handed me a couple sheets of paper, and walked away briskly, leaving me in complete and utter shock.

Valentine's Day special edition? Oh, no…this was bad. Very, very bad. This meant an interview about wishy-washy, lovey-dovey, flirty things like examples of the perfect date and favorite snog spots. Sandra and Butch were going to have a field day with this. Wait a second, Butch! He had done this! He was conspiring against me!

I slowly looked up to see Butch smirking at me. Sandra was back to peeping over the wall and had a huge grin plastered on her face. "Way to go, Cupid!" she said, "Nice move!" And then she vanished behind the wall again.

I looked back down to see Butch wearing a smug look on his face, arms folded across his chest. "You can't beat me," he said.

I was starting to believe him. Maybe I would have been better off in St. Mungo's after all.


	4. Of Twerps, Cockroaches, and Mashed Potat

Disclaimer: The only things I own are Butch, Erik, Matt, Luke, and Kirk, and they really don't count.

Of Twerps, Cockroaches, and Mashed Potato Mountains

"Why me?" I asked desperately, to no one in particular, "What have I done to deserve this?"

"Probably lots of things," said Butch as he took out an arrow and began polishing it on his boxers.

I glared at him, "It was a rhetorical question," I said.

"Well then why did you ask it?" he retorted, continuing with his polishing.

I glared at him and turned back to staring at the papers now residing in my hands.

Mrs. Bartleby had taken the liberty of titling the interview, "Chatting with the World's Most Mysterious Hottie, Harry Potter." I grimaced. He was not going to like that.

The little summary beneath the title was even worse. "For years, our world's hero, Harry Potter, has declined all interviews asked of him. Now, however, our very own _Witch Weekly_ has managed to get an exclusive interview with The-Man-Who-Conquered-You-Know-Who. With Valentine's Day approaching, we have to wonder, what kind of girl, exactly, will convince Harry Potter to give up his bachelorhood? Harry saved all of our lives by defeating You-Know-Who, becoming our very own hero, and now, we want to know who will be saving _him _from his station as a single wizard. Who will be the hero's heroine? Well, you won't have to wonder for long, because we've asked him. Welcome to the mind of a hero, ladies and gentlemen. Hold on to your broomsticks, you're in for a wild ride!"

Oooooh, Harry was really, really not going to like this.

He _hated_ publicity. Especially if it had to do with his personal life. I was pretty much positive that who his heroine was going to be fit in under his personal life. I really, really, did _not_ want to give this interview.

I mean, this couldn't really be happening to me, could it? My life could not have been completely turned upside down in less than 24 hours…could it?

I looked down at the coffee stain on my blouse and brushed a hand through my hair, sending a cloud of floo powder floating onto the papers in my hands. Well…maybe it could.

I spent the rest of the day contemplating on the best way to ask Harry for the interview. I had pretty much ruled out all possibilities involving the threat of a Bat-Bogey hex if he didn't do it. I really wanted to Bat-Bogey him anyways after how he treated me that morning. I mean, he could have at least been a little bit gentlemanly and helped me up after I humiliated myself!

However, I didn't think he would take too kindly to a threat, and since he _would_ be doing me a favor, I decided that I should be nice about it. So, my most effective method of getting what I wanted was out of the question. But that didn't mean I couldn't use some kind of trickery if I had to.

I thought about maybe just asking him the questions without telling him what they were for. I could just like, you know, incorporate them into the conversation or something.

But then I thought about how that would sound in his position. Just imagine, I'm talking to him at dinner…

"Hey Harry, could you pass the potatoes?"

"Sure, Gin."

I take the imaginary potatoes from imaginary Harry. "Thanks. So, what's your preference, Harry, blondes or brunettes?" or "Thanks Harry. What's your favorite snog spot?" or "Wow, these potatoes are good! Hey look! I can make them look like a mountain! Speaking of mountains, what would you consider a better date, a hike in the mountains or a stroll on the beach?"

…No, fitting them into the conversation most definitely would not work. Besides the fact that any attempt to fit these questions into regular conversation would make me seem incredibly nutty, Harry would be furious after I had published them. He would probably hunt me down and do something horrendous to me. Like make me sprout an extra head. Or shave my eyebrows off.

No, I definitely didn't want to face the wrath of the-man-who-defeated-the-most-powerful-wizard-of-our-time. Because that would make _him_ the most powerful wizard of our time. Scary thought.

When five o'clock rolled around, I was still void of ideas. So, I walked sullenly over to the fireplaces and flooed home, looking forward to a relaxing evening spent in the tub. I figured that maybe, just maybe, if I stayed in there long enough, the interview would go away. Or maybe everyone would think I had drowned myself and Bartleby would give the assignment to someone else.

Come to think of it, maybe I _would_ drown myself. That way, I wouldn't have to deal with it at all, and Bartleby would feel all guilty for blackmailing me like she did. No, I couldn't do that. I would look dreadful in my casket at my funeral viewing. I would be all wrinkly, like a shriveled up prune. Who wants to look at a shrivelly dead person? Gross.

But still, a bath might clear my mind. I might have a miraculous epiphamy while I was in there that would solve all of my problems. Yes, I would definitely take a bath when I got home.

Or not.

The second I stumbled out of my fireplace I was attacked by four, flying, red-capped projectiles that were otherwise known as my nephews, Eric, Kirk, Matt, and Luke.

Eric and Kirk were George and Alicia's. Matt and Luke were Fred and Angelina's. They were both sets of twins. Apparently, having twins is a genetic thing in the Weasely family, just like the red hair and ferocious blush. And since Fred and George are twins as well, and their sons look just like their fathers, they might as well all be quadruplets. Especially since Gred and Forge had managed to get their wives pregnant at exactly the same time, meaning they all had the same birthday. I don't even want to fathom how they managed that.

"Auntie Ginner-Pinners!" they all yelled.

"Ginner-Pinners?" asked Butch incredulously.

I glared at him and tried to pry them off my legs, as two of them had latched themselves onto them and were now yelling, "Auntie Ginny-kins is a horsy! Go, Auntie Gin-Gin, Go!"

"Yes, Auntie Gin-Gin, go," said Butch amusedly.

I gave him my best eat-poo-and-die look. Anyways, they wouldn't budge, so I started dragging them towards the kitchen.

But then the other two latched onto my arms and threw me off balance, sending me toppling to the floor. They accosted me, pulling ropes and rolls of duct tape out from under their shirts and beginning to tie me to the coffee table leg.

Butch burst into raucous laughter and bent over double holding his stomach. He wasn't going to be of much help, so I turned to my next available savior.

"Mum!" I screamed, "A little help here, please!" I managed to yell this just before one of the little demons slapped a strip of duct tape across my mouth. "MMMMPH!" I said.

Butch laughed harder, tears streaming down his face.

They were now crowding around me all with identical evil grins on their identical evil little faces. They were so like Fred and George sometimes it was frightening.

One of them pulled out a wand. _My_ wand. My eyes widened and I struggled wildly against the ropes. How did the little buggers get my wand?

The last time they stole someone's wand, Ron had ended up transfigured into a fly. We didn't know that they had done it, so we were all swatting at the annoying fly buzzing frantically in our ears. It went so far as to where we all had fly swatters, chasing him around the room before someone pointed out that Ron was missing and that the Fearsome Four were laughing hysterically. We figured it out pretty fast after that. Needless to say, Ron was none too happy about the situation.

Anywho, the one with the wand scrunched his face up in concentration and took aim at me, poking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth.

What made this situation even more terrifying was the fact that the quadruplets were really, _really_ smart kids. They inherited it from their mothers. Obviously, they had inherited Fred and George's personalities. Therefore, they were _very_ dangerous when left to their own devises. Especially if you gave them a wand.

I scrunched my eyes closed, preparing to enter into insectdom. They would probably turn me into a cockroach, keep me in a jar, and feed me leaves for a week before someone figured it out.

So there I was, eyes closed, preparing for the worst. Maybe I would get lucky and they would turn me into a butterfly or something. At least then no one would attempt to squash me.

Then I thought about my day and the amount of luck I had going for me, and I decided that I would most definitely be turning into a cockroach.

Then again, maybe this was lucky. They might keep me in the jar past Valentine's Day, and I wouldn't have to worry about Harry's interview! Bartleby would be out of my hair too, as she would probably fire me. I was starting to think that this might not have been such a bad situation after all.

But, true to form, my luck ran out. Right as Mini-prat number 1 was about to cast his spell, the wand flew out of his hand, and all four of the quadruplets were flipped over, hanging upside down in mid-air. They looked shocked.

Just then, I heard a deep male voice say, "Now, now, boys, is that any way to treat your dear Auntie Ginner-Pinners?"

Oh, no, not that voice. That was _Harry's _voice.

Butch had managed to stop laughing. "Oh, look, Ginner-Pinners!" he said, "it's lover-boy! You sure you don't want me to shoot him?" he notched a an arrow in his bow and took aim.

I narrowed my eyes at him and said, "Mmph!" Translation: no.

Butch just shrugged, put the arrow back in the quiver, and hovered with his arms crossed, "Suit yourself," he said, "But now you're just gonna have to tell him yourself."

I ignored him and looked towards the door where Harry was. He was standing there, an amused look on his face, one hand pointing his wand towards the quadruplets, the other twirling my wand in his fingers.

I glared at him, and looked down at the ropes around my writsts and ankles, indicating that he should vanish them. He grinned and obliged. I slowly stood up and faced the twerps.

"Listen up twerps," I said. They all looked at me innocently, "If you ever attempt to turn me into an insect again, I am going to Bat-Bogey you until kingdom come. I don't care _what_ the Child Services say, hexing the spawn of Satan can _not_ be considered child abuse."

Mini-prats 's numbers 3 and 4 pouted and said, "But Auntie Ginner-Pinners! We weren't going to turn you into an insect."

"Yah, we were going to get rid of the floo powder in your hair," said Mini-prats numbers 1 and 2.

"And the coffee stain on your shirt," added numbers 3 and 4.

"And the bruise on your forehead," said numbers 1,2,3,and 4 together.

I clapped a hand to my forehead, and looked across the room at the mirror on the wall. Yep, I had a big, blue, circular bruise right in the middle of my forehead. Why didn't anyone tell me these things?

Butch smirked at me, "That tends to happen when one bangs their head against hard objects."

I grimaced and looked back at the twins. They were all smiling evilly at one another. They went back to looking somber when they saw me glaring at them.

"Lying is bad," I told them. I held my hand out towards Harry. He put my wand in it.

"Bad children who lie get punished, " I said, sending a tickling hex at them. They all started squirming, and their faces turned purple. Probably because they were laughing so hard. Hanging upside most likely had something to do with it as well. They looked like radishes...with red hair.

I left the hex on them a while and then asked, "Had enough?" They all nodded as best they could, still laughing hysterically. I lifted the hex just as Harry let them go. They toppled to the floor in a heap.

They stayed that way for about two seconds and then launched themselves at Harry.

"Uncle Harry!" they all yelled, "Tell us how you beat Old-Voldie again!" The twerps were fascinated with Harry's defeat of "Old-Voldie." Then again, who wasn't?

Harry laughed, "Maybe later boys," he said, "Why don't you go show Uncle Ron you're new Flaming Tongue Lollies?"

The evil grins reappeared, and they ran off to set Ron's tongue on fire.

I watched them leave, "Poor Ron," I said. And then I turned to Harry, "How come you get a normal name while I get to be Ginner-Pinners?" I asked him.

Harry laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "Don't forget Gin-Gin, and Ginny-kins," he said. He opened his mouth to say something more, when my mother stepped out of the fireplace in a whoosh of green flames. All you could see were her legs, as her upper boy was hidden by grocery bags.

She peeked her eyes over the top of the bags. "Harry, dear!" she said. "How lovely to see you! Are you staying for dinner? Ginny, dear, take some of these bags, will you?" she said as she dumped two of the bags on me. I tottered slightly under the weight of the bags.

Harry nimbly grabbed them from my arms, and then turned to Mum to do the same. "Yes, Mrs. Weasely. Is that alright?" he asked.

Mum glared at him, "Of course it's alright," she said, "And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Molly?"

Harry looked abashed. "Yes, Mum," he said without an inkling of sarcasm.

Mum gaped, and then beamed. Tears pouring out of her eyes. Then she launched herself at him, hugging him fiercely. "He called me MUM!" she wailed.

I grabbed at her robes, "Mum! You're squashing the groceries!" I yelled. Then I added, "And Harry."

Mum, let go, sniffling loudly. "Well, I'll just go clean up then. Ginny, dear, could you start dinner please?" She left without allowing me to answer.

I scowled, and followed Harry into the kitchen.

"Sure Mum, no problem," I said sarcastically, "Just don't blame me when we're all poisoned."

Harry chuckled and said, "It's okay, Gin. I'll help you."

"You can cook?" I asked in disbelief.

"Yep."

"Ooooo, brownie points," said Butch. I glared at him and mouthed, 'shut up.' He just raised his eyebrows at me and mouthed back, 'no.'

And then out loud he said, "You should go ahead and tell him about the interview. Otherwise, you'll get fired. You've only got four more days."

I glared at him some more, but decided he was probably right. It would be better to face the wrath of Harry now, in my own house.

If worse came to worse, I could always run and hide in my room. My brother's had insisted on charming it so that only females were allowed in it. They said it was to "protect my innocence." The room only allowed themselves and dad into it, unless a different male had special permission to enter from one of them. I don't know what they thought I would attempt to do in my room with a boy under the same roof as my parents. I'm really not stupid.

I took a few deep, cleansing breaths to calm myself down, something I learned from those muggle "Goya," or "Yoda," or some such weird name, classes Hermione had made me take. I had to quit because I couldn't control myself from laughing when I was told to get in positions such as the "downward dog," or when they told me to "stretch forth towards the sun."

Anywho, back to the story.

"Harry?" It came out as a squeak. So much for the deep, cleansing breaths. Damn yoda, or goya, or...whatever.

He looked up from the potatoes he was peeling, handing me one to mash, "Yes?"

I got a fork and began mashing the potato. "I have something to tell you," I said. So far, so good. I could do this.

He raised an eyebrow, "Which is?"

I stayed silent, looking at him. No, I couldn't do this. I would rather be fired. It wouldn't be so bad living with my parents for the rest of my life. I could build plugs with my dad. I could sew Weasely sweaters and make fudge all day with Mum.

So, I mashed the potatoes harder, "Ummmm…" I looked around frantically, trying to think of some way to tell him. My eyes alighted on the potatoes I was ferociously mashing into a pulp, "Oh look!" I said, "These potatoes look like a mountain! Speaking of mountains, which do you think is more romantic, a hike in the mountains or a stroll on the beach?"

Butch burst out laughing, while Harry just stared at me, unmoving, his knife poised over the potato he was peeling.

Oh…my…god. I did not just say that!

I seriously considered just turning myself into a cockroach, then and there.


	5. Of Digging Holes and Snogging Goldfish

Disclaimer: No comment.

Of Digging Holes and Snogging Goldfish

I mentally kicked myself and added yet another reason to the "Reasons Ginner-Pinners Should Check Herself into the St. Mungo's Center for the Incurably Insane."

So far, it went like this.

1. She does stupid things like stick her elbow in the butter dish whenever a certain green-eyed, raven-haired, scar-headed, bespectacled boy is within a 20-foot radius of her. And then her face turns a furious shade of red. She looks like she's just eaten a butt-load of Mexican food, is constipated, and the laxatives she's taken aren't working.

2. She falls out of chairs, causing said butter dish to land on said face when said bespectacled boy is within said 20-foot radius of her.

3. She takes out her frustrations and embarrassments on her kitchen table…and she uses her forehead to do so.

4. She thinks she can intimidate inanimate objects into doing what she wants them to do. (Remember the glaring incident? When she thought glaring and walking menacingly at the floo powder would cause it to become suicidal? Ya, thought so.)

5. A figment of her imagination in the form of a small, ugly, flying man clad in heart boxer-shorts is stalking her.

6. She thinks that said "figment" is real.

7. Moreover, said figment tells her that he is Cupid…and she believes him.

8. She very seriously considers drowning herself in the bathtub, and instead of ruling the possibility out because she doesn't really _want_ to commit suicide, she rules it out because she would be wrinkly in her casket and people would think she looked like a shriveled-up prune. She would probably smell bad, too, come to think of it, and they would have to hand out nose-plugs to everyone so they didn't puke on the carnations.

9. She thinks being saved at the last minute from entering the realm of insectdom by the love of her life is bad luck.

10. Said situation in reason number 8 could actually be considered bad luck with the way things were going with her life.

11. She had spontaneous bouts of insanity whenever she tried to ask previously mentioned boy questions pertaining to his love life. As in, she mentioned potatoes in the same sentence as romantic outings such as hikes in the mountains or strolls on the beach.

12. She iss seriously debating whether or not she should turn herself into a cockroach.

13. She is making lists in her head while the figment laughs and the bespectacled boy imitates a goldfish.

I still wasn't in complete control of my mouth. And I was having a particularly nasty bout of spontaneous insanity (See before mentioned list).

So, naturally, I said the first thing that came into my mind.

That was an exceptionally horrendous thing to do.

"Some people say that snogging is just like pretending to be a goldfish," I said, "You just open and close you're mouth. Do you agree? Or do you have a better technique?"

Sweet Merlin.

Harry's mouth stopped moving as his jaw completely dropped and the potato he was previously pealing slipped out of his hand.

Butch let out an almighty shriek of mirth and began banging his head on the counter in hysteria. He was turning violently purple from lack of oxygen. He looked rather like an over-large blueberry wearing boxers and a beard. (A/N: Think Violet from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Now replace her facial features with Butch's and her clothes with boxers with hearts on them, un-swell her a little bit, and picture her banging her head on a counter…there, now you've got it.)

I opened my mouth to say Merlin-knew what else when a loud clanging noise came from the sink.

Thank Gryffindor for the accursed ghoul in the attic.

The noise seemed to snap Harry out of it, as he had closed his mouth, and was now only staring at me in bewilderment.

Thankfully it also ended my momentary loss of control over my mouth. Thank Merlin for small favors.

But now I was in a predicament. At least when I had been talking, I was temporarily insane. Now, I was fully in control of my mouth. What in the name of all that is holy could I say, now? I had just mentioned the word goldfish in the same sentence as the word snogging.

And the worst part was, I hadn't even gotten any answers out of him. He still hadn't said a word.

But that changed momentarily.

"Wha…why…you…holy hippogriffs, Gin! What in the name of sweet Merlin are you on about?"

"Ummmm…I didn't say anything?" It was worth a shot. Maybe he could imitate the memory of a goldfish as well as the mouth of one. I was pretty sure I had heard somewhere that they had a memory span of three seconds, or something like that.

"What is this about, Gin?"

This was it. I was going to tell him.

Goodbye Burrow! Goodbye accursed ghoul in the attic! Goodbye Tetra-Twerps! Alas! My life is ended! My time here is done! Farewell mashed potato mountain, you have defeated me!

I frantically searched my mind for more things to mentally say goodbye to. I was trying to stall my impending doom.

Nothing came to mind.

So, I took a deep breath and looked at Harry. "Just do it," said Butch. He had managed to get control of himself, though he was still rather red. He now slightly resembled an enlarged tomato. "It's not like you could dig your hole any deeper."

Ohhhh, how wrong he was.


	6. Of Defenseless Eyebrows and Stray Arrows

Disclaimer: Ya ya, they have to rub it in that I don't own it.

Of Defenseless Eyebrows and Stray Arrows

I decided that, to be safe, I should go ahead and just tell him about the interview. That way, I wouldn't run the risk of further embarrassing myself.

Unless he shaved my eyebrows off after I told him.

I was pretty sure my next confrontation with someone would be slightly embarrassing if I didn't have any eyebrows.

Besides, I didn't want him to shave them off. I was rather fond of them.

Regardless, I screwed up my Gryffindor courage and took a deep breath. I was going to tell him. I was not going to be afraid. I was just going to look up at him and say, "Harry, I would be highly honored if you would give me an interview pertaining to your love life as my first assignment."

Well, maybe not quite like that. That sounded a little bit like something Percy would say. And Percy is a stupid git, and I hate him, the prat.

In fact, last time I had seen him, I had turned his nose green and had the words "Stupid Git" sprouted across his forehead in pimples. It had stayed that way for a week. Muhahaha.

So, anywho, no, I wouldn't say it like that.

Maybe I would say it more like, "Harry, would you mind terribly if I interviewed you for my first article for _Witch Weekly_?" In a really sweet and guiltless voice of course. I might even go so far as looking at him imploringly and clasping my hands in front of me innocently. You know, like in those movies with girls in the white frilly dresses? The ones where they go, "Oh, you are ever so kind for saving my little kitty from the big mean dog! Would you mind terribly if I gave you a kiss on the cheek for your kindness?"

And ideally, he would look at me and say, "Aw shucks, Gin…you know I can't say no to you. It'd be my pleasure to let you kiss my cheek."

And so then I would, and the little girl in the white frilly dress would be drop-kicked out the window to be replaced by the bad bad little girl named Ginny that would snog Harry until his brains fell out.

Erm, right. Not sure where that came from. Ummmm... ya.

Obviously, that wouldn't happen, so I would pull out the big wands. My puppy dog eyes. _No _one can resist my puppy dog eyes. Years of experience with being the youngest in a family of seven brothers made them failsafe when used on men.

In fact, my brothers insisted that they should become illegal as it was basically like putting the Imperious Curse on somebody. Any member of the male species just couldn't say no. Too soft hearted, the lot of them.

So, I had a plan. I just needed to execute it.

I took a deep breath and said…

"Please don't shave off my eyebrows."

Butch snorted and turned into a tomato again.

Congratulations to Ginevra Molly Weasely on having successfully completed the impossible task of digging herself an even deeper hole! Please contact the head of the Mortally Embarrassed Magical Persons Department to collect your prize of a brand new brown paper bag to be placed over the head in mortally embarrassing situations...

Okay, so that wasn't _quite_ how I planned to break the ice, but it would do. Now he would have to ask me why on earth he would want shave my eyebrows off. And I could tell him.

Besides, it was better than finding some other obscure analogy that would relate some type of food to Harry's preferences in a girl.

I rather thought he might pass out if I mentioned that the grapefruits on the kitchen counter looked rather like a girl's breasts, and did he prefer large ones or small ones?

So ya, at least I had managed to stop relating everything to an item of food. Eventually, I would have seen the bananas in the fruit bowl, and my brain would have acted on its own accord and come up with an obvious comparison. I do not even want to _think_ about what my mouth might have said.

Harry stared at me blankly, "Huh? Why would I shave off your eyebrows?"

Ah, yes. Why indeed, Harry? It was time to tell him.

"Because you would be mad at me."

At that, his eyes narrowed suspiciously, "Why?" he asked.

Okay, now was my chance to redeem myself. Stick with the puppy dog eyes. Don't mention a food item of any kind, stay away from all evil butter dishes that want to attack you, don't say anything stupid…no, that definitely wouldn't work. I would most definitely say something stupid if I opened my mouth. The bananas were mocking me.

So I decided it would be much safer to keep my pie hole tightly shut.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the interview papers. I looked at them, "Chatting with the Wizarding World's Most Mysterious Hottie, Harry Potter."

Yeesh. Boy was I was in trouble.

So, I scrounged up all of my Gryffindor courage and thrust the papers into his hands.

Unfortunately, my Gryffindor courage supply was completely depleted by this action. So, I then proceeded to dive under the kitchen table and throw my hands over my head, pressing my forehead against my arms so that my eyebrows were protected. I've told you, I'm rather fond of them, and I don't fancy having them shaved off.

But yes, once again, the Gryffindor courage had flown out the window, and I was once again cowering under a table.

This time, however, I peeped at him with one eye from underneath my armpit.

But then I moved my head cuz it smelled bad. Yuck, body odor. But really, could you blame me? I had had a rather stressful day.

Anywho, I watched him. He read the title and his jaw dropped for the gazillionth time that day. Then, as he read the summary, he blanched and his head snapped up, looking at me.

"Ginny," he said slightly threateningly, "Come out from under that table right now and explain this."

I contemplated the look on his face. No, it definitely was not a happy face. In fact, I would venture to say that it might have been a fairly _angry_ face.

I didn't like that look on his face. It made me think that I should probably not do as he asked. It made me think that I should probably stay under the table. It made me think that it was probably much safer.

"That's okay. I'm fine, thanks. I rather like it under here. It's nice and…protected."

Harry's eyes narrowed and his voice changed from slightly threatening to unquestionably menacing, "Ginny…"

I decided that I didn't like the unquestionably menacing tone, and that it would probably be within my best interests to have a change of plans and run and hide in my room.

Screw the puppy dog eyes, what good would they do me if I didn't have any eyebrows? I didn't think people would respond correctly to the puppy dog eyes if I had no eyebrows. My face would look like an egg…with red hair…and freckles. I was pretty sure they would only laugh hysterically.

In fact, I would probably become a hazard to their health. They might die of oxygen deprivation because they were laughing so hard, and then it would be my fault and their families and friends would chase after me with torches and pitchforks.

I didn't like the idea of being chased with fire and sharp objects that could stab me. So, I squeaked and scooted out from under the table, making a mad dash for the doorway.

Unfortunately for me, Harry had a wand. And he was an auror. That meant he was trained to chase people… and catch them.

So, he simply said, "ACCIO GINNY!" and my feet were lifted off the floor as I flew towards him.

In a desperate attempt to prolong the lives of my eyebrows, I grabbed the kitchen table as I passed, and it was dragged along with me. I smacked into his rock hard chest, and then the table smacked into me, throwing me backwards and pinning me underneath him as he fell on top of me.

Butch hovered over his Harry's head, looking down and me and smirking.

"Rather a compromising position you've gotten yourself into," he stated, his smirk broadneing. "No potatoes to save you now."

I ignored Butch, and Harry ignored before mentioned compromising position. In fact, he made it more so when he grabbed my forearms and leaned his head towards mine, his eyes boring into me. "Explain," he ordered.

Hmmm…nope, not possible. I was waaaay too preoccupied to explain.

Did he realize that he was lying on top of me? Did he realize that his face was a mere two inches away from mine? Did he realize that my hand was trapped between us, resting on his rock-solid chest? Did he realize that I was practically on fire I was blushing so fiercely?

Cuz I did, and it was rendering me speechless. Therefore, I only looked at him silently.

My mind, however was not so silent. It went something like this…

_He's lying on top of me, he's lying on top of me! Omygosh! Harry Potter is lying on top of me! Oooooooh, look at his muscles…_

**No Ginny! Bad! Bad, bad Ginny! Don't think like that! Back away from the Harry…**

_I can't. Harry Potter is lying on top of me, Harry Potter is lying on top of me!_

**Yes, I know! You've mentioned that multiple times. Just bakc away from the Harry!**

_Why, exactly, would I want to do that? I rather like this position. Look at his eyes, and his muscles, and…_

**No Ginny! Don't do it! Don't think about him!**

_Why the bloody hell not? You can't stop me! I will think about him when I bloody well please. And his eyes, and his hair…_

**Fine, get you're eyebrows shaved off, I don't care.**

_My eyebrows? But I like my eyebrows! I don't want them shaved off!_

**Well then you should have found a better hiding place than under the kitchen table! So, get him off of you!**

_But I don't want to! Ah! He's looking at me…oooohhh, look at his eys…_

**We're doomed. Our eyebrows are history.**

Harry broke my train of thought when he spoke again, "I'm getting impatient here, Ginevra."

Oooh, that was bad. Real name.

The last time someone had used my real name was when Hermione had caught me trying to stuff Crookshanks into the vanishing cabinet in our house. Obviously, that had not been a happy confrontation. But, come on! You can't blame me! The thing had _eaten_ my brand spanking new pair of quidditch gloves! Just because Hermione thought quidditch was a waste of time and shouldn't be played when there was work to do instead did _not_ mean she should allow her cat to eat things that related to it!

I told her as much, and I might have suggested that maybe she had _trained_ him to eat quidditch things because she was jealous because she couldn't ride a broomstick to save her life.

That last comment landed me in Antarctica, as Hermione pushed _me _into the vanishing cabinet instead of Crookshanks. I had ended up stranded on a glacier filled with penguins in the middle of the Antarctic Sea. It had been _hell_ getting back. Stupid bloody penguins.

Anywho, I was pretty much positive that I should have listened to my other voice in my head because my eyebrows were most probably in danger. If they had had a spoon on my mother's clock, it would have been pointing to "mortal peril."

"It's not my fault," I said quickly. He raised an eyebrow which, by the way, unlike mine, was perfectly safe. "My boss blackmailed me. She said she'd fire me. Please don't shave off my eyebrows." I squinted my eyes closed, preparing to have my eyebrows shaved. Farewell, my fateful friends! It was nice having you grace my face with your presence! You have served me well! You will never be forgotten!

But nothing happened. I cracked one eye opened slightly and looked up at Harry.

He no longer looked livid. Just slightly steamed. "Gin, I can't answer these questions!" he sounded a little panicked, "I mean, Gods…look at this one," he pointed to a particularly awkward question.

_Many women think you're glasses are rather sexy, and some have wondered, do they get in the way of snogging? And we can't help but speculate as well, do they fog up during a particularly heated snog snession?_

"Ah, yes," said Butch, "That one's my personal favorite."

I grimaced. Yes, I could certainly see why he wouldn't want to answer that.

"Umm…" I said, but just then a hysterical Ron ran screaming into the room.

Harry and my heads whipped to face him. He was shrieking bloody murder, running around in circles, hands flailing about, and mouth wide open revealing…a violently flaming tongue.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" he shrieked.

Harry jumped off me and ran to the sink. He turned on the spout, grabbed the back of Ron's robes, and shoved his head under the water.

His tongue went out in a rush of steam, and Ron was left choking and spluttering under the water.

The Tetra-twerps surveyed their work from the doorway, laughing hysterically.

Ron's head snapped up, and his eyes alighted on his nephews. He growled.

If I had heard that growl and had known it was directed at me, I'm pretty sure I would've hightailed it out of there.

But the Fearsome Four held their ground, still laughing. Maybe they were brave little Gryffindors in the making. Or maybe they were just stupid. Or, most likely, they had something planned.

Ron advanced on them, his growl turning into a roar.

They backed up, and just when Ron was passing under the doorway, one of them yanked a string he had been holding, and a large bucket of stinksap landed right on top of Ron's head. The handle fell down under his chin, holding the bucket in place.

The twins ran off, collapsing in laughter every once in a while, as they scrambled over each other to get to Fred and George's old room where they would plan their next bout of mischief making.

Ron stood stunned for a while before he screamed, "WHY YOU LITTLE BAS-"

That's when Mum appeared from out of nowhere, brandishing a wooden spoon. She wacked the spoon against Ron's bucket, making a resounding clang. Ron's head vibrated with the impact, and he wobbled around, clutching his bucket.

Butch went into screaming peels of laughter again, Harry ducked behind the table to conceal his violently purple face, and I just laid on the table, still utterly shocked that Harry had been on top of me not two minutes before.

"RONALD WEASELY! DON'T YOU DARE USE PROFANITY IN THIS HOUSEHOLD! ESPECIALLY NOT TOWARDS YOUR OWN NEPHEWS!" Mum raged. Leave it to Mum to appear just when someone is about to curse.

Ron was stumbling around, trying to get the bucket to stop vibrating. Mum had a vicious backhand with that spoon.

"But Mum!" he said from within the bucket, his voice echoed around inside it. I'm pretty sure I heard Harry snort from behind the table. "They set my tongue on fire! And then they poured stinksap on my head! What else was I supposed to call them! Why wont this BLOODY bucket come OFF!" he was tugging violently on the bucket, succeeding only in pulling his head up, stretching out his neck. He looked rather like a chicken.

Mum wacked him with the spoon again. "WHAT DID I JUST FINISH SAYING ABOUT PROFANITY?"

"BLOODY HELL, MUM! ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?"

Honestly, how thick can you get? You would think that he had figured out by now to _not_ curse when Mum had a weapon in her hand.

Mum pulled her arm back and smacked him with the spoon so hard that the handle broke.

"OOOWWWWW!" screamed Ron. And then he attempted to run away from her, but as a bucket was over his head, he just ran smack into the wall and fell in a heap onto the floor.

He got up and began crawling around frantically, bumping his bucket on every piece of furniture imaginable.

Mum was following him, smacking his butt with the broken handle of the spoon, screaming about how his profanity was corrupting his nephews.

Ron stumbled around, trying to fend Mum off.

Mum ran around after him, whacking him with the broken spoon and screaming.

Harry rolled on the floor laughing and gasping for breath.

Butch, once again, banged his fists on the counter in mirth.

And me? I was still lying on the kitchen table, staring straight ahead at where Harry's face had been four minutes before.

Ron finally managed to get the bucket off, and he sprinted outside, Mum following him, leaving Harry and me behind.

I regained some of my senses, and turned to look at Harry.

He was purple he was laughing so hard.

"Can't…breath…" he gasped, grasping the edge of a chair and pulling himself to his feet. He stood up slightly, and then broke into another bout of hysterical laughter when a faint yell of, "GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU DEVIL WOMAN!" was heard coming from where Mum and Ron had just run off to.

I realized that this was probably my best chance of escape. I figured that if Harry couldn't breathe, then he obviously could not talk.

"Right, so, I'm gonna go...powder my nose," I said as I scurried towards the door. Harry looked like he was trying to say something. I figured it was along the lines of, "Get your butt back in here and finish explaining your involvement in getting me stuck doing an interview about snogging techniques."

So, I fled up the stairs, calling, "I'll be back in time for dinner," over my shoulder.

I got to the bathroom, slammed the door, and locked it quickly, breathing heavily as I slid down the wall to a sitting position.

Well, at least he knew about the interview.

Now there was just that teensy weensy detail of actually giving it.

I looked at the bathtub. Hmmmm, maybe I could still get out of this. I mean, who cares if I'm wrinkly for my funeral? I'd be dead wouldn't I?

But, really, is it even possible to drown yourself in the bathtub? I mean, I would think you would chicken out at the last second and just pull your head out.

I suppose I could swallow the bar of soap. I might choke on it. Or maybe it would poison me. Or maybe…

Butch looked at me from his perch on the edge of the bathtub. He grabbed the bar of soap and threw it at me. I caught it.

"Please, I beg of you, try it," he said, "I could use another laugh. I think I've lost 10 pounds already today from laughing. I could stand to lose a few more."

I looked at the soap, and then I looked at Butch.

And then I threw the bar as hard as I could, and it hit Butch in the middle of the forehead.

He looked shocked, and I burst out laughing.

But I stopped laughing abruptly when he slowly took out one of his arrows and knotched it in his bow, taking aim right at…me.

"I'm getting fed up with you and your inability to string coherent sentences together around lover-boy," he said, "So I'm gonna shoot you with this arrow. Do you know what this arrow will make you do?"

I shook my head feebly, staring warily at the heart-tipped arrow.

"It will fill your mind with warm, fuzzy thoughts about butter-dish-boy down there," he said, "And do you know what that means?"

I shook my head again, though this time I had a pretty good idea of what he was about to say.

"It means that you will be very much compelled to run downstairs and confess your undying love to him."

I gasped. "You wouldn't dare," I said, though I was pretty sure he would.

He smirked, "Wanna bet?"

And then he took aim and pulled back the arrow.

I screeched and rolled out of the way, just as he released it.

It lodged into the door right where I had been not two seconds earlier.

Shit, Butch meant business.

I jumped up and yanked open the door, just as Butch pulled back another arrow.

I ran out the door, and smacked into Ron, who had his fist raised like he was going to knock on the door.

"Ginny?" he said, "What the…Ow!" he trailed off, and clutched his butt. Butch's arrow had missed me and had hit Ron in the arse.

A glazed look appeared in his eyes, and he released me.

Suddenly he yelled, "HERMIONE! I'M COMING MY LOVE!"

And then he sprinted down the stairs to find her.

Uh-oh.

"Oops," said Butch.

"Ya," said me.

Dinner was going to be a very, very hectic affair.


	7. of Angry Mums, Exploding Spaghetti Sauce

Disclaimer: Ah, the million dollar question…You know no one ever answers those, right?

Of Angry Mums, Exploding Spaghetti Sauce, and REALLY Annoying Songs

I stood looking after Ron for a few seconds before I turned to Butch.

"You were going to make _me_ do that?" I asked incredulously.

Butch looked at me, "Were?" he said. And then he reached back to pull out another arrow.

My eyes widened, and I whirled around intent on throwing myself down the stairs in the hope that maybe it might kill me. Or at the very least, put me in a coma for a few hundred years. I did _not_ want to around screaming, "HARRY MY LOVE! I'M COMING! I SWEAR I DON'T SNOG LIKE A GOLDFISH!" _Not_ my idea of a good way to tell him.

But just as I was about to take the final leap of my most embarrassing life, I heard what was unmistakably the voice of an angry mother. Though it wasn't my Mum. The voice I was hearing was waaay too pleasant and light to be Mum's. Though it was most definitely angry.

"CUPIDO MERCURY EROS AMORE!" the voice said. I tripped and fell backwards onto the landing.

Butch winced, and quickly shoved his bow behind his back like a guilty kid caught stealing a cookie before dinner, "How many _times_ mother! Don't _call _me that! The name is BUTCH!"

A pink, glowing orb appeared on the landing in front of Butch. It grew brighter until, with a flash, it disappeared and left behind, a _very_ angry looking woman. She was beautiful, with long, wavy blonde hair, a pale, ivory face complemented with rose colored cheeks, and stunningly blue eyes that were currently flashing fire. I gasped, it was Aphrodite.

"CUPIDO MERCURY!" she yelled again, this time advancing on Butch. He hovered back away from her, "I TOLD YOU THAT THERE WOULD BE NO ARROW-SHOOTING FOR THIS ASSIGNMENT! THEY DON'T NEED IT, IT ISN'T NECESSARY!"

Butch put on his best innocent face. I snorted. Butch putting on an innocent face was like attempting to discreetly scratch your bum. It just didn't work.

Butch continued, "How lovely to see you, Mummy dearest! What's this about arrow-shooting? There has been no arrow-shooting done by me! None at all! Perhaps it was the _other_ me that you sent to Po-…" but Aphrodite had closed the distance between them and clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Not in front of the girl, you imbecile!" she hissed, "Honestly, if you weren't my own son, I would fire you for incompetence!"

She then reached behind him and grabbed his bow. He refused to let go.They had a bit of a tug-o-war with it.

"YOU GIVE ME THIS BOW RIGHT NOW, YOUNG MAN! YOU HAVE LOST YOUR PRIVELEGES WITH IT! IF YOU CANNOT BEHAVE RESPONSIBLY WITH THIS BOW, THEN I WILL BE FORCED TO CONFISCATE IT!"

Butch held on to his bow for dear life as his mother swung him around the landing.

"But Mummy! I _need_ it!" whined Butch, sounding very much like a little three year old whose favorite plaything is being taken away.

Aphrodite suddenly let go of the bow, and Butch flew down the hall and hit the wall with a smack.

"You better do your job, mister! Or I'm gonna send you're father down here! He has permission from Zeus to use his thunderbolts when he wishes, you know!"

Butch groaned and looked slightly frightened, "Mummy please don't! It took _weeks_ for all my bloody hair to grow back last time!"

Aphrodite huffed, "Well then do your bloody job correctly! And watch you're language! You're just lucky that that boy you hit with the arrow was meant to be with that girl eventually! Otherwise, it'd be more than your hair that was missing!"

With that, Aphrodite turned to me and said, in a slightly irritated, but still reassuring voice, "I don't make mistakes in the matter of love, dear." And she disappeared in a wisp of sweet-smelling pink smoke.

I gaped at the spot where Aphrodite had just stood and wondered if maybe I had actually thrown myself down the stairs and was now having a coma-induced hallucination.

So, I did what they do in those Muggle movies Hermione makes me watch. I pinched myself.

It hurt.

Therefore, I decided I wasn't in a coma.

Butch groaned, and picked himself up off the floor, "Damn bloody devil woman. Well, we'll see what she can do about it…," he grumbled. A low rumble of thunder echoed through the hall warningly.

Butch scowled, "Alright!" he said, "_Alright!_ No bloody arrows!"

I sniggered, "Still controlled by _Mummy,_ are we?"

"Shut it butter face."

That shut me up. I glared at him and descended the stairs.

The sight that greeted me at the bottom of them was absolute pandemonium.

In the appearance of Aphrodite, I had forgotten about the earlier escapade involving a confrontation between Ron's arse and a certain heart-tipped arrow.

He was running from room to room screaming, "HERMIONE!" at the top of his lungs, golden arrow protruding from his bum.

Mum was in the kitchen yelling at the top of _her_ lungs to shut up or she was gonna whack him with a _metal_ spoon instead of a _wooden_ one.

The Tetra-twerps were huddled around the kitchen yelling at the top of _their_ lungs "NINETY NINE BOTTLES OF BUTTERBEER ON THE WALL, NINETY NINE BOTTLE OF BUTTERBEER! TAKE ONE DOWN, PASS IT AROUND, NINETY EIGHT BOTTLE OF BUTTERBEER ON THE WALL! NINETY EIGHT…" and so on and so forth. I'm sure you get the point.

Harry, however, was perfectly quiet. He was sitting calmly at the kitchen table, sipping tea, and looking around amusedly. Though, the amusement didn't fully reach his eyes. His eyes looked a bit panicked, and the corner of his mouth was moving, as if he was talking out of it.

Before I could wonder about this, his eyes widened and he turned his head around to look at me. His eyes met mine, and he smiled. Though I wouldn't exactly call it a warm smile. It was more like a if-we-were-in-any-other-situation-I-would-be-interrogating-you-right-now smile, if there's such a thing.

I smiled weakly back, and then decided I should just camp out in the bathroom before anyone else noticed my presence. Especially Mum, since she would have me mashing some more potatoes.

And I didn't think me being around any kind of food that I could make analogies from was a smart idea.

Besides, did I mention that cooking isn't my thing?

Harry, however, decided he didn't want to let me escape.

"Why hello there, Gin!" he said brightly. Though his eyes were flickering mischievously. He seemed to be paying me back for the bombshell I had dropped on him earlier that day.

At my name, my mother whipped around, brandishing her spoon, and temporarily stopped yelling.

"Ginny!" I froze. Dammit, she caught me, "Come here and help me make the spaghetti sauce," she commanded.

I sighed resignedly and turned around, to see Harry smirking at me from the kitchen table.

I glared at him, and moved towards the stove.

Just as I was passing him, trying desperately not to attack him and snog him like a goldfish, Hermione came into the kitchen from outside.

Now normally, this would not be a big deal. However, as my brother was currently shot in the butt with one of Butch's arrows, it made it a bit more of a deal.

Ron yelled, "HERMIONE!" and ran towards her, knocking me over in the process.

Take a wild guess where I landed. Ding ding! Correct! You're a winner!

Oh, yes, right on Harry's lap.

Unfortunately, he was still holding his hot tea. It slipped from his glass and landed upside down…on his crotch.

He leapt up, sending me tumbling to the floor.

The noise level was reaching phenomenal levels.

The quadruplets had let off one of Fred and George's wet start fireworks. A huge sparkling pink pig was now squealing and oinking around the room, letting off pops every once in a while.

"EEEEEEEEEEEE!" went the firework pig.

"OW! MY BUM!" went me.

"HOT! HOT! HOT! OOOOOHHH, IT'S HOT!" went Harry.

"NINETY-SIX BOTTLES OF BUTTERBEER ON THE WALL, NINETY SIX BOTTLES OF BUTTERBEER!…" went the twerps.

"Ginny! Get up off the floor and help me with this sauce! NOW!" went Mum.

"HERMIONE!" went Ron.

"…BOTTLES OF BUTTERBEER!"

"GINNY! NOW!"

"HOOOOOOOOOTTT!"

"TAKE ONE DOWN, PASS IT…"

And finally.

"HERMIONE JANE GRANGER! I WANT TO HAVE YOUR BABIES!"

If you ever feel the need to stop all motion and sound in a room…yell those words. It is very effective.

I stopped attempting to dislodge my hand from under Harry's foot (he had stepped on it while jumping around).

Harry stopped jumping (effectively trapping my hand) and his hands stopped fluttering about his crotch, trying to cool it down. It looked like he was attempting to do some sort of ballerina move and was failing miserably.

Mum stopped yelling, and had her spoon reared back, ready to rap one of the quadruplets on the head. It was dripping spaghetti sauce.

The Fearsome Four all had their mouths half-open, staring at Ron.

Ron was breathing heavily, staring at Hermione.

And Hermione had dropped the basket of strawberries she had been carrying, and was gaping at Ron.

Not a sound was made. Except for the pig.It said, "EEE!" But nobody paid any attention to it.

I slowly came out of my trance and walked over to Ron. I grabbed the arrow, and yanked it out of his butt.

His eyes unglazed.

"Bloody…effing…hell," he said.

Hermione snapped out of it too, "Don't curse Ronald!" she said. But then she kissed him. Passionately.

"EWWW! NINETY-NINE BLOODY EFFING HELLS ON THE WALL, NINETY-NINE BLOO-"

"BOYS! STOP CURSING THIS INSTANT! AND STOP SINGING THAT BLOODY SONG!"

"NINETY-NINE CURSING GRANDMAS ON THE WALL, NINETY-NINE CURSING GRANDMAS!"

"EEEEEEEEEEE! OINK OINK OINK!"

"BOYS! YOU STOP THAT RIGHT NOW OR I'M GONNA…"

"TAKE ONE DOWN, PASS IT AROUND, NINETY-EIGHT CURSING GRANDMAS ON THE WALL!"

I turned around amidst the pandemonium, and my eyes locked with Harry's. He looked shocked. He stared at the hand holding the arrow in it.

He looked at me, and opened his mouth to say something.

And then the spaghetti sauce exploded because the pig landed in it.

Effective Way to Stop all Noise in a Room Number Two: Blow the spaghetti sauce up with a firework shaped like a pig.

All that could be heard was slurping sounds coming from Hermione and Ron.

That is until…

"NINETY NINE BOWLS OF EXPLODING SPAGHETTI SAUCE ON THE WALL, NINETY NINE BOWLS OF EXPLODING SPAGHETTIE SAUCE! TAKE ONE DOWN, PASS IT AROUND, NINETY-EIGHT BOWLS OF EXPLODING SPAGHETTI SAUCE ON THE WALL! NINETY EIGHT…"

Sweet Merlin, this was a headache.


	8. Of Pineapples, Anchovies, and Snogging H

Disclaimer: Ya, no, don't own it. Though I do own the Tetra-twerps, I'm rather proud of them.

Of Pineapples, Anchovies, and Snogging Harry Senseless

Mum screamed and threw a small tantrum, complete with stomping feet and hair pulling.

But then she stopped when the Fearsome Four changed their song into, "NINETY-NINE TANTRUMING GRANDMAS ON THE WALL! NINETY-NINE TANTRUMING GRANDMAS!"

She morphed into Super Mum, complete with purple cape and red spandex body suit with a giant gold "M" on the front.

Well, no, not really.

That would be weird.

But still, she was Super Mum.

She sweeped her wand across the room and yelled, "Scourgify!" All the spaghetti sauce disappeared. Of course, while everyone else was now spotless, I still had floo powder hair and coffee on my blouse. What else did you expect?

She then turned to the twerps and bellowed, "Silencio!" effectively shutting them up. They were now mouthing silently.

She straightened her apron, pushed back a few hairs that had escaped out of her bun, and cleared her throat, "Now," she said calmly, looking around at everyone, "As dinner has been ruined, and there is no possible way I am taking _those_," she jabbed her thumb at the twerps, who were still mouthing silently, "to any kind of restaurant, and I don't think _they_," she jabbed her thumb at a snogging Ron and Hermione, "are aware of the world around them, we will be ordering Muggle pizza. Harry, dear would you mind using the fellytone? I still haven't quite got the hang of it."

Harry nodded, and got up, "What does everyone want?"

The twerps began gesticulating wildly, apparently attempting to tell Harry what they wanted.

They then turned as one and looked pleadingly at Mum.

She sighed and took the silencing charm off them by muttering, "Finite."

They immediately screamed, "PINEAPPLES AND ANCHOVIES! PINEAPPLES AND ANCHOVIES!"

Ew.

Repulsive.

But understandable, I suppose. They _are_ the progeny of Fred and George.

Harry stared at them, "Ew," he said simply, "That's disgusting. I'm not ordering it."

The Tetra-twerps launched themselves at Harry and hung off his arms and legs yelling, "PLEASE, UNCLE HARRY! PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE…" etc., etc., etc.

"Alright!" Harry said. But the twins still hung on, begging, "ALRIGHT! I'LL ORDER THE BLOODY ANCHOVIES AND PINEAPPLE!" roared Harry, shaking them off and grabbing his head as he ducked out of the room to use the fellytone.

I smirked. It seemed his calm demeanor was finally dissolving.

Served him right. Him and his stupid good looks always distracting me, making me want to snog him until his brains fell out.

The twerps yelled, "MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!" before military marching around the room bellowing "YAY…YAY…YAY, YAY, YAY!" (you know, the left…left…left, right, left, tune)

I stared at them for a moment and felt slightly mollified.

They were so very insane.

Perhaps more so than me.

And that was an accomplishment. And it made me feel better. I could now honestly say that I was the _second_ most insane person in the universe (I'm counting the twerps as one entity. They might as well share the same brain, the way they're so similar).

I worried about them sometimes. But mostly, I just had a strong urge to shove _them_ into the vanishing cabinet to be sent to Antarctica. They were smart kids, I was 85 percent sure they would survive.

And while they were fighting off the mutant penguins, I would get some peace and quiet.

Their screaming continued, and I decided I needed a potion for my headache.

So, I went into the pantry and rummaged around until I found a bottle labeled "Miss Whirlybang's Headache Solution." I took a very large swig from it. And just for safe measure, I took another large swig. Then I just drained half the bottle. It couldn't hurt, right?

Wrong.

It could most definitely hurt.

Unfortunately, it wasn't until _after _I took the swigs that I saw the label on the bottom of the bottle.

It went like this…

"_Caution! If taken in excessive amounts, drinker may experience symptoms similar to those created by the large consumption of alcohol. This includes dizziness, slurred speech, and the inability to think before one talks_."

In the words of Ron- bloody…effing…hell.

I was going to be acting _drunk_ in front of _Harry_!

Oh sweet Merlin, this was bad.

This was very bad.

This was worse than the potato, goldfish, and butter dish incidents _combined_.

This was worse than pinapple and anchovie pizza.

Which was bad.

_And_ it said it would cause, "the inability to think before one talks." That meant my mouth was even more out of control than normal.

Not good.

Very bad.

As I stared at the bottle, the words blurred together and went out of focus.

I took a deep breath, and carefully set it back on the counter, wobbling a bit.

"Oooooh, this should be good," said Butch from behind me.

"Ssshhhut i', pooty 'ead," I slurred. Goodness this stuff worked fast.

Butch smirked, "No, I don't think I will ssshhut i'."

I glared at one of him (there were three), and grabbed onto the wall to stop the world from spinning.

I stumbled out of the pantry, and fell into a chair at the table.

I figured if I just stayed in the chair and said nothing, no one would notice me, and I would therefore, not smush my nose to my face and scream, "Hey everybody, look! Nose hairs!" like I had the sudden urge to do.

Don't ask _me _why! Ask Miss Whirlybang, she's the one who was possessing me.

The Tetra-twerps were huddled at the other end of the kitchen table obviously planning something to pull on whatever poor soul delivered our pizza.

I was slightly horrified when I saw them because I now saw eight instead of only four. I was briefly tempted to scream, "RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! IT"S THE END OF THE WORLD! THEY'RE REPRODUCING UNCONTROLLABLY!" but I reminded myself that the potion multiplied things, and calmed down slightly, managing to restrain myself.

Then there was a knock on the door.

Mum acted quickly. She poked her wand at the twerps and placed a sticking charm on their seats so they couldn't attack the pizza man.

Then she quickly walked to the door, opened it, grabbed the pizza, handed him the money, and slammed the door.

The Fearsome Four had all attempted to hop over to the door with their chairs, but they didn't get very far. Two of them ended up toppling over halfway across the room, and the other two couldn't aim their chairs in the right direction and had ended up entangled in one another.

Mum righted them all with a swipe of her wand and then screamed, "DINNER!" at the top of her lungs.

I winced, the exclamation was echoing around in my head. Now I knew how Ron felt with that bucket over his head. Who ever heard of making a headache potion that made your damn headache worse?

Then the house began to tremble as everyone ran into the kitchen and launched themselves at the pizza boxes.

I clamped my hands over my ears and dropped my head onto the table.

I felt someone sit beside me. I turned to look and saw 3 Harry's grinning at me.

"Headache?" he asked.

_Whatever you do, don't say anything. Do NOT say ANYTHING!_

I remembered not to talk and nodded my head, which made my brain slosh around…and my head feel like a rabid monkey was trying to burst out of it.

Harry chuckled and grabbed a piece of pizza.

I looked at the three boxes of pizza in front of me and concentrated hard on the middle one. I took aim, and reached my hand out towards the box.

Damn...missed. Stupid box wouldn't sit still.

I tried again, this time aiming to the one on the right.

Nope, not that one either.

I finally hit my mark when I aimed at the left one.

"SUCCESH!" I yelled, waving the pizza in the air like a maniac.

Everyone stared at me.

I quickly stuffed the pizza into my mouth before I could say, "MUHAHAHA! I am the champion of the pizza! Hear me roar! ROAR!" Because that's what the evil Miss Whirlybang in my brain wanted me to say.

Ha! Evil Woman! Take that! Not gonna make ME say anything I don't want to!

I snickered and went to take another bite of my pizza.

I missed and bit my hand instead.

"Ow!" I yelled, "Damn bloo'y pizsha! Shtay shtill, you shtupid peesh of cheesh!"

Harry was looking at me slightly concernedly, "Gin, are you alright?"

Luckily, the pizza was by then in my mouth, and I could only nod instead of blurt out what my mind was thinking. Which was something like…

"Peachy keen, Harry! I'm peachy keen! Mmmmm…isn't this pizza scrumptious? Are _you_ scrumptious, Harry? You _look_ scrumptious. Oh look! Bananas! How big is _your_ banana, Harry?"

And that would not be a good thing to say. Especially with my entire family sitting at the table.

Harry looked at me funny and turned back to his food.

He set his elbow on the table as he ate.

Which reminded me…

"Hey 'arry! 'arry, guesh wha'? You wanna know? Heehee, 'arry, guesh wha', heehee."

He just looked at me, "What?"

"It's no' poshible oo lick your elbow! Didya know tha', 'arry? Didya know tha'?"

Harry frowned, "Yes, Gin, I knew that. Are you drunk?"

I was losing control by now.

I poked him in the chest and slurred, "Wha' exac'ly are you inshinuating, mishter?"

But then I wobbled slightly from leaning in towards Harry. He caught my arms and looked into my eyes.

I grinned, "LOOK INTO MY EEEYYYEEESSS!" I sang, "HAHAHAHA! Didgoo know tha' cowsh are the only animalsh tha' pee backwardsh?"

What the hell? _Where_ did that come from?

"Seriously, Gin, are you drunk?" asked Harry.

I smiled goofily, "Nope. Itsh the Mish Shhhmeetlburgy's, er…Meeshlemangy's…no…"

"Whirlybang's?" asked Harry.

I pointed at him, "Thash it!" I exclaimed, "Thash the one! Good job 'arry! One 'undred points oo Gryffishlinder!"

All three if him were now spinning around, which made it very difficult for me to concentrate. One Harry was enough to distract me to the point of sticking my elbow in the butter dish, for Melin's sake!

" 'arry, you shilly goosh! Shtop moving abou' sho much! Ooooooooohhh, dizzy dizzy dizzy! Ring aroun' the roshy! Hey! You know wha'? I…love…EGGSH!"

"Gin, how much of Miss Whirlybang's did you drink?"

"Hmmmm…'alf o' bo'le, I bleev."

Harry's eyes widened, "Half a bottle?"

I thought hard for a minute. I was having trouble focusing on anything, "Yesh, bou' 'alf o' bo'le," I stated. Then I leaned closer and whispered, "Bu' between you n' me, I think itsh givin' me gash."

And that's when I lost all control of my body as well.

I looked at Harry and said, "You know wha' 'arry? Know wha'? I think tha' you," I jabbed him in the chest again, "are looking particarlilily…partctiousilishously…part-ic-uuu-lar-lilyy shcrumptioush today. And you know wha' elsh? I don' think I care if you shnog like a goldfishhh. Maybe goldfisshh are good shnoggersh. I think I should tesht that hippomothshush…hyposhomoshos…hy-poth-e-thish ou', don' you, 'arry?"

And with that I leapt onto his lap, grabbed his head, and snogged-him-bloody-senseless.

That is until I passed out and fell backwards, my head landing on the pineaplle and anchovie pizza.

This action was caused partly because I was drunk on headache potion.

Partly because I was oxygen deprived as my lips were locked to Harry's, and I didn't have the presence of mind to breathe.

And partly from absolute shock.

Cuz you know what?

Harry Potter, hottest hottie of all hotties, love of my life, savior of all, snogged me back.

And he was _much_ better at it than a goldfish.


	9. Of Childish Knickers and Ruby Red Slippe

Disclaimer: Not mine. Stop asking.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Of Childish Knickers and Ruby Red Slippers

The next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes, finding myself in my bed, snuggled under the covers, wearing a tank top and knickers with the words, "Boys are stupid. You should throw rocks at them" written across the bum.

Childish, I know. But it made me feel better as there were currently _no_ boys in my knickers.

I bolted upright and stared at the clock beside my bed. It was 11:00 at night.

I winced as the memories of the evening's events came flooding back.

That's the thing about getting drunk on headache potion. It doesn't make you forget any of the embarrassing and/or completely ridiculous things you did while you were drunk. You have absolutely no trouble recalling what occurred during your drunken stupor.

But then I realized something.

I had supposedly passed out fully clothed while snogging Harry in the kitchen.

Right now, I was waking up in only a tank top and knickers in my bedroom, completely devoid of a Harry.

My eyes widened. It might have only been a dream! Oh my effing stars, IT MIGHT HAVE ONLY BEEN A DREAM!

That would mean no butter dish, no potato comment, no goldfish snogging, no interview, and best of all, no Butch!

But I couldn't be sure. Not in this crazy world. CONSTANT VIGILANCE! as I was once told.

There was only one way to find out.

Slowly, I picked up the handheld mirror beside my bed and looked into it.

There was me, staring back.

And guess what?

NO FLOO POWDER IN MY HAIR!

But that didn't prove it. If I had been changed out of my clothes, then my hair could've been scourgified.

No, what really proved that it was a dream was…

NO GIANT PURPLE BRUISE ON MY FOREHEAD!

I whooped and then jumped out of bed to do a happy dance.

I was in the middle of shaking my booty and pointing my fingers up in the air, when my feet got entangled in something on the floor and I fell over with a thud.

"Umph!" I said, "What the bloody hell?"

And then I saw it. What my feet had entangled themselves in during my happy dance, that is.

It was a blouse. A white blouse to be exact. It was crumpled up around my feet.

It looked suspiciously like the one I had been wearing in my dream.

Slowly and with increasing dread, I picked it up and let it unfold in front of my face.

Oh no.

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

There, down the front of the blouse, was a large brown stain that smelled remarkably like coffee.

I groaned and lowered the shirt.

Then I yelped because Butch was staring at me from the other side of it.

All hope of it possibly being a dream died when I saw him.

"About time," he said, irritated, "I thought I was going to have to wait bloody forever for you to wake up."

"It's only been a few hours."

He stared at me incredulously, "A few hours? Well, if you call 72 hours a _few_, then maybe, but…" I interrupted him there.

"_72 hours_," I croaked, "As in, _three days_!" Well, that certainly explained the no bruise on the head bit. But still, I like the idea of it being a dream much better. I wouldn't be forced to drown myself in the bathtub if it was only a dream.

"YES! THREE BLOODY DAYS! Days I could have been spending in Hawaii getting a tan. But nooooooo, butter-face just HAD to overdose on freaking painkillers!"

"It was _headache_ potion!" I yelled, "not painkillers."

He just looked at me.

"You're completely nuts," he stated.

I glared at him, "No Butch," I said, "I am not nuts. I am bloody insane. No, not even insane. I have passed insane and have reached…WHATEVER IT IS THAT IS BEYOND INSANE!" I said this while I waved my blouse around hysterically.

He just looked at me some more, "Like I said, you're nuts."

I just groaned and got to my feet.

I needed some ice cream.

Fast.

I got up and walked towards the door.

There was a wolf whistle behind me, "Nice knickers!"

I just stuck a hand over my shoulder and raised my middle finger as I went out the door and began descending the stairs.

I got to the bottom and headed straight for the freezer. Nothing was going to stop me from getting that ice cream. Absolutely nothing.

Not even rabid monkeys.

Not even mutant penguins.

Not even pineapple and anchovie pizzas come alive.

Not even scrumptious Harry's sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea.

I yanked open the freezer door and started rummaging around before my brain fully registered what it had been thinking.

Wait a second, scrumptious Harry's sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea?

No…it couldn't be…

Slowly, I stood up and turned around.

And there he was, teacup halfway to his mouth, staring at me in my red-haired, freckle faced, childish knickered glory.

I closed my eyes and willed him to be a hallucination.

I opened them again…nope, he was still there.

And now he was smiling and staring at my knickers.

"You're finally awake," he said.

I only stared at him, saying nothing and trying to convince myself that he wasn't real.

He spoke again, "You don't have any rocks do you? I'm rather tired, I don't think I could dodge them if you started throwing them at me."

I remembered my knickers and blushed. Luckily it was dark, so he probably couldn't tell.

Wait no, scratch that, it _wasn't_ dark because the freezer was still open, and of course, while freezer doors are open, light is issuing from them.

I was standing in front of an open freezer door. Therefore, light was issuing from it and illuminating my blushing, knicker-wearing form.

And it was freezing my bum off. So I reached behind me and shut it.

Then I looked at Harry and stated, "You're a hallucination."

"No," he said, "I'm pretty sure I'm not."

I walked over to him stretched my hand out towards him. It made contact. I pulled it back as if I had been burned.

He was real. Oh my god, he was real. And I was in my knickers! And he was real! And I had snogged him! And he was real!

In a fit of desperation, I racked my brain for potential ways that this situation might not actually be happening.

Remote Possibility Number One: I had somehow become stuck in an alternate universe. One where I wore knickers into the kitchen looking for ice cream and Harry's commonly sat at said kitchen's table at 11 at night, staring at me wearing said knickers. And made comments on them.

I mean, it could've happened. The Tetra-twerps could've shoved me into the vanishing cabinet, and I could've ended up in an alternate universe. I mean, no one _really_ knew where all that cabinet vanished to.

At the moment, I couldn't think of any more remote possibilities, so I clung to the one I had created. That way, I didn't have to face reality.

Denial is such sweet bliss.

Harry spoke again, "Well, tomorrow's you're deadline. Don't you need that interview?"

The interview.

My mouth fell open as I realized what this meant…I was going to be giving Harry James Potter an interview pertaining to his love life…wearing only knickers and a tank top.

Sweet Merlin.

Alternate universe or not, I did _not_ want to ask Harry which he like better, bums or breasts, while wearing nothing but a too-small tank top and juvenile knickers ordering people to throw rocks at the male species.

Desperately, I searched for reasons not to do the interview.

"Erm…I don't have the questions," I said. Harry pulled them out of his robes.

"You gave them to me, remember?"

Oh, ya.

Damn, well nix on Plan A.

On to Plan B.

"No quill," I stated feebly. It sounded lame even to me.

Harry reached into his robes and pulled out a quill.

Right then, Plan C.

"I don't have any…" but Harry interrupted me.

"It's a self-inking one."

Well damn it all to hell, then!

Fine. FINE! I was going to give this interview to Harry in my knickers. And if he said anything about it, I would throw rocks at him like they told me to. So, there!

Besides, I was in an alternate universe. It wasn't going to matter once I got back to the real world anyways.

Or maybe it wasn't an alternate universe. Maybe I was actually in St. Mungo's Psyche Ward, gone completely loony. Maybe I was trapped inside my own twisted mind, unable to free myself, forever stuck in the freakish world I had created.

Remote Possibility Number Two, for sure.

I rather liked the alternate universe one better. At least then, I had a chance of escaping back to the real world. I was pretty sure that if this was all a creation of my own fanatical mind, I wasn't going to get out any time soon.

So, I stuck with the alternate universe possibility, and prepared to give Harry his interview.

I looked at the questions.

Number One: _Which do you prefer, blondes or brunettes?_

Well that wasn't so bad.

I straightened in my chair and tried to pretend I was actually fully clothed in my special, professional, interview-giving suit.

It didn't work.

So then I tried imagining Harry in only his boxers.

That only succeeded in making me blush and lose my concentration as I gazed rapturously at his imaginary abs.

Well, I suppose I _could_ imagine him completely...

Butch smirked at me from his perch over Harry's head, "The whole "imagine the audience is naked" thing never works," he said.

Right, so, definitely not gonna imagine Harry in his birthday suit. Bad idea.

Damn, too late. I blushed some more and said in a squeaky voice, "Right, so... Harry. Blondes or brunettes?"

He looked at me for a moment, seemingly contemplating something. He glanced above my head, nodded almost imperceptibly, and turned back to me.

"Neither," he stated.

_Neither?_ What did he mean, _neither_? How could it be _neither_?

Then I remembered a certain black-haired beauty by the name of Cho.

I clenched my fist around the quill. Ooooh, I wanted to gouge her eyes out and feed them to the giant squid. I wanted to shave all her hair off, take a picture, and print it on the cover of _Witch Weekly_. I wanted to…

Butch interrupted my thoughts, "You shouldn't bottle up all that rage," he stated, "It's not healthy. Raises your blood pressure and all," he smirked, "And I think lover-boy is waiting for you to say something."

"Erm…right, then. You like the black-haired bitc-…beauties." I said.

"Nope."

_Nope_? What the bloody hell was he talking about? What else _was _there, pink? Gasp! Pink hair! Who did he know with pink hair? Oh my gosh! He was in love with _Tonks_! Oooooh, I wanted to…

But before I could think of a cruel and unusual way to inflict pain upon Tonks, Harry said…

"I'm rather partial to redheads."

I was stunned. _Redheads_? But that would mean he liked…me.

That was all the proof I needed. The final straw. Icing on the cake.

Yep, I was in an alternate universe for sure. No doubt about it.

So, I promptly ducked under the table and grabbed Harry's feet, untying his sneakers and pulling them off, bringing them out from under the table and setting them in front of me.

"Gin, what…Gin? What are you doing?"

I ignored him and looked around for my wand. I didn't see it anywhere, and I was getting impatient. So, I turned to Harry, and reached into his pocket, grabbing his wand. (No! Not _that_ wand you perverts!)

I then turned back to the sneakers. It was time for desperate measures.

I waved his wand at them and muttered a spell under my breath.

The shoes vibrated slightly, and then changed into a pair of red, sparkly high heels. Though they still had grungy shoelaces, but hey! it wasn't my wand, you can't blame me.

I was going to pull a Dorothy because Toto! we weren't in Kansas anymore!

I couldn't think of any other way to get back to my real world. The world where I didn't stick my elbow in butter dishes, or make strange comments about mashed potatoes and goldfish, or have strange flying midgets stalking me, or hallucinate Harry's that told me they were partial to redheads.

I grabbed the heels, put them on my feet, and stood up.

I then closed my eyes and tapped them together three times.

"There's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like home," I muttered.

Hey! It worked for Dorothy in the Muggle movie! You, know, the one with the creepy flying monkeys that looked a bit like Butch? Wizard of Shnoz or something?

I cracked an eye open to see if it had worked.

It hadn't.

I closed them tightly and continued tapping my heels. Only this time, it was with slightly more force.

TAP! "There's no place like home!" TAP! "There's no place like home!" TAP! "THERE'S NO BLOODY PLACE LIKE HOME!"

I was getting hysterical. It wasn't working.

TAP! "THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME!" TAP! "THERE IS NO PLACE LIKE HOME!" TAP! CRACK!

That's when the heels broke because I was tapping them together so hard.

I fell over and landed on top of Harry. Again. It was becoming a rather nasty habit of mine

"Gin? What, exactly, are you doing?"

I stared at him. He was definitely a solid being. Not what I would call a hallucination

I looked down at myself. I was still only in my knickers and a tank top, except I had added the red high heels with shoelaces.

"It didn't work," I said.

Harry looked confused.

"I'm still in the alternate universe."

"What alternate universe?"

"The one where I'm giving you an interview while in my knickers and your saying you like redheads."

Harry chuckled, "This isn't an alternate universe, Gin. You _are_ giving me and interview while in your knickers, and I _do _like redheads."

I stared at him.

Okay, then. Well, fine, I was just going to stick with denial and not worry about how, exactly, I wasn't really in this situation.

So, I sat down in my own chair and picked up the quill again.

"Question number two: describe your perfect girl."

Harry glanced over my head again, took a deep breath, and said, "Well, for starters, she's sitting right in front of me."

That did it. "NOT AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE, MY ARSE!" I yelled.

I then stood up and stalked over to the vanishing cabinet in the corner. I threw open the doors, bent my knees so that I could hurl myself into it and pray to all that was holy it would take me back to the right universe.

But before I could leap into the cabinet, Harry grabbed around the waist and twirled me around to face him.

"Gin," he said, "You are _not_ in an alternate universe."

I was still hysterical, "Oh, I'm not, am I? Well then how do you explain you're comments, huh? How do you explain my walking into the kitchen in my knickers and finding you there, huh? HOW DO YOU BLOODY EXPLAIN _WHY_ I AM ONCE AGAIN STICKING MY ELBOW IN THE BLOODY BUTTER DISH WHEN YOUR AROUND, HUH?" I was breathing heavily.

Harry remained calm, however, and simply said, "You tell me."

I stared at him incredulously, and let my temper take over, "Oh, you want to know, do you! Well, then, I'll tell you, bucko. Oh, I'll tell you alright! Wanna know?... IT'S BECAUSE I FELL HEAD OVER EFFING HEELS IN LOVE WITH YOU!"

Oh, shit. I did _not_ mean to say that.

I clapped my hands over my mouth, and my eyes widened in horror. Harry just looked slightly stunned.

Butch whooped and said, "Thank Merlin! FINALLY! Hawaii, here I come!"

Harry was still staring at me. Then he said, "Gin, take your hands away from your mouth."

I shook my head no. My mouth was in time out. It wasn't aloud to talk anymore.

Harry sighed and pried them off himself. Then he grabbed my head and all-out snogged me.

My hands shot to his hair, and I ran my fingers through it. He wrapped his arms tighter around me and pulled me closer.

We broke apart for a second to breathe.

I was stunned. Harry had just kissed me. And he wasn't drunk. And there was no way this was an alternate universe because if it was I was going to throw an almighty tantrum. Everyone knew this, see? So therefore, whoever was in charge of making alternate universes would not have me put in one because they would have known I would throw an almighty tantrum. See?

So ha, alternate universe maker!

Harry looked into my eyes, "I love you, too, Gin."

I swooned.

Or, at least, I would have swooned, except somebody farted, and it distracted me.

"Oops, sorry. Beans are gettin' to me," said a voice from right above my head.

I looked up to see another flying dwarf hovering above me. He looked exactly like Butch, only fatter. And slightly hairier. Which was disgusting, as you could probably make an entire wardrobe of clothes using only Butch's hair.

Harry rolled his eyes, "That's what you've been saying for four bloody days."

"That's what he's been saying his entire life," said Butch. Harry's head snapped up to look at Butch.

"What the hell?" Harry and I both said.

"You have one, too?" we said together, as we looked back at each other.

"What's going on?" we said, turning to the Cupids.

The fat one farted again, "Whoops!"

Butch wrinkled his nose, "Could you please desist from doing that, Thor?"

_Thor_? Goodness, these Cupids definitely had some insecurities about their masculinity, making up names like that. Though, I would too if I was a dwarf who wore heart boxers and made people fall in love...

"Excuse me? Could you _please_ explain to me what's going on! I am standing here, completely confused, and you are _farting_. DO WE SEE A PROBLEM WITH THIS SITUATION?" I was losing my temper again. Nasty habit of mine number two.

Harry guided me over to a chair at the table and sat down with me, "Calm down," he said soothingly. Then he turned to Butch and Thor, "Yes, do explain," he said.

"Well, _you two_," Butch jabbed his finger at us, "refused to tell the other one how you felt about them. Therefore…"

Thor cut in, "Mum sent us down to make you."

"But I thought there was only one Cupid," I said.

They looked at me incredulously, and Thor said, "And how the bloody hell is _one_ Cupid supposed to help _all _those people fall in love, pray tell?"

I never thought about it that way.

"Oh."

"Well, then. Our work here is done. We're off to Maui. See ya!"

And they disappeared in puffs of sweet-smelling pink smoke.

Harry and I just stared after them for a while.

Then Harry turned to me and said, "Now, where were we?"

And he kissed me again.

Hallelujah!

Praise Merlin!

Holy Hippogriffs, he was a good snogger!

By the time he was finished kissing me I was nothing but a puddle of mush, leaning on the table for support.

I looked at him with glazed eyes and snorted.

"So you're glasses _do_ fog up in particularly heated snog sessions," I said, taking off his glasses, wiping the fog off, and putting them back on.

He grinned goofily, and then looked at me.

"Hey, Gin?" he asked.

"Hmmmm?" I said, unable to string any kind of coherent words together. I was too busy watching him grin.

"You're elbow is in the butter dish again."

Ahhhh, and so it was.

_El Fin_


	10. Of the Wizarding World's Most Mysterious

Disclaimer: Seriously. Redundancy.

**Chatting with the Wizarding Worlds Most Mysterious Hottie, Harry Potter**

_For years, our world's hero, Harry Potter, has declined all interviews asked of him. Now, however, our very own Witch Weekly has managed to get an exclusive interview with The-Man-Who-Conquered-You-Know-Who. With Valentine's Day approaching, we have to wonder, what kind of girl, exactly, will convince Harry Potter to give up his bachelorhood? Harry saved all of our lives by defeating You-Know-Who, becoming our very own hero, and now, we want to know who will be saving him from his station as a single wizard. Who will be the hero's heroine? Well, you won't have to wonder for long, because we've asked him. Welcome to the mind of a hero, ladies and gentlemen. Hold on to your broomsticks, you're in for a wild ride!_

_Ladies and gentlemen, you are now the only people in the history of ever to be reading something written by a person who has had her heart stop. And then explode. Yes, that's right, my heart stopped, and then it exploded. I have an exploded heart and I am not dead and buried six feet under._

_Now, you are probably wondering why you are reading about me and my exploded heart under an article entitled, "Chatting with the World's Most Mysterious Hottie, Harry Potter." Come to think of it, you're probably wondering why my heart is exploded as well… but we'll get to that later. _

_Anywho, if you bothered to read the subtitle and not skip over to the juicy stuff after you read a certain title referring to a certain hottie named Harry (Ha! Caught ya! Now you have to go back and read it), then you are holding on to your broomstick because, apparently, you're delving into the "mind of a hero" and "you're in for a wild ride." Well, I would advise you to keep holding on to that broomstick of yours because you are now about to delve into _my_ mind, and if the past few days are any indicator, my mind is much more perilous than the hottie's. Trust me on this. I know what I'm talking about._

_Don't worry though, you'll definitely be reading about the charming Mr. Potter. Cuz my mind is absolutely chock-full of him. In fact, he's the reason for my exploded heart._

_Why, you ask?_

_Well, I'll tell you. _

_See I gave the hottie an interview. And not just any interview ladies and gentlemen, but an interview about his LOVE LIFE! Yes, I know, you're all in a tither now. Don't worry, I was too. Though I was also mildly miffed considering I had a HUGE crush on the guy, and I now had to listen to his ramblings about his fantasy girl. Not my cup of tea, I must say._

_But yes, he caused my heart to explode and nearly killed me with the things he said. And I must warn you, ladies, if you're a romantic, sappy type of person, your heart might be in danger of explosion as well after you read this. Once again, trust me on this, I know what I'm talking about._

_So, yes, I realize that you are probably shaking this magazine screaming, "GET ON WITH IT, WOMAN!" And I will. Right now, in fact._

_Sadly, that does not mean I'll be writing down the interview. Cuz here's the thing, it occurred on my kitchen table just a few hours ago under rather…oh, let's just say…strange circumstances. So, if I wrote it down here, you would have absolutely no idea what I am talking about._

_Therefore, I have decided that I'll just basically tell you what happened, no matter how mortally embarrassing it is to me. But this is only because I feel that you, the readers of Witch Weekly deserve to know the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God. _

_And since this is no longer an interview on Harry, I've decided to rename this little article, "The Ramblings of a Crazed, Love-Struck Journalist Who is Writing this at One in the Morning and is High on White Chocolate Mocha Coffee with a Double Shot of Espresso and a Pinch of Vanilla." But that wouldn't fit in the title box, and I think my boss would fire me if I printed it anyways. _

_Anywho, alright, on with the story. I swear I'm really telling it now, so you can put down your torches and pitchforks and read on. _

_It started like this…_

_I woke up in the middle of the night last night (Actually I suppose that would be earlier this morning, but who cares about details like that? Besides you, Hermione.) after being out cold for three days. No, I'm not sick. I'm not hurt. I didn't have a confrontation with a man-eating refrigerator. I accidentally drank half a bottle of Miss Whirlybang's Headache Solution. Little word of advice… don't do that. It makes you go completely nutsoid and do embarrassing things like sing loudly and fall into anchovy and pineapple pizza. But that's a story for another time._

_So, yes, I had a massive hangover (that stuff is STRONG), and I decided I needed to go downstairs and get some ice cream. Because ice cream fixes everything, right ladies?_

_Right, you're saying._

_Anywho, I made my way downstairs, minding my own business, and went to the freezer, rummaging around for the ice cream. But then I realized that I wasn't in the kitchen alone. Oh, no, not alone at all. Harry was in there._

_Which wouldn't have been so bad had I not been in my pajamas. Which consisted of nothing but a tank top and underwear. So, I was mortally embarrassed._

_But that's beside the point. Here's the good stuff…_

_Harry, being the considerate and kind hottie that he is, remembered that I needed to have an article in by today and asked me if I would like to do the interview then, as he didn't want me to be fired._

_On three ladies, AWWWWWW!_

_Yes, I know. I nearly melted. Of course, I managed to not melt, as I am writing this right now. I doubt I could hold my quill if I was melted._

_But on with the story, I then began asking Harry questions. You know, interview questions that apparently EVERYONE wants to know about the Man-Who-Conquered. Like if he wears boxers or briefs. That was a comical question, me being in naught but my knickers and all that. But you don't care about that do you? You just want to know what he answered, don't you? Yes, you do. _

_Well, he's a boxer boy. Yummy, I know. Now stop drooling, and don't get all hot and bothered ladies… he's taken._

_GASP! Oh, the horror! Oh, woe is the female population that has worshiped Harry the Hottie for all of time!_

_Well, get over it, she's not gonna give him up. And if you try to take him from her, she'll Bat-Bogey you from now until the day Voldemort returns. Which is never. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. _

_Well now all you gossip lovers are on the edge of your seats, eyes bugged out, mouth hanging open, perhaps even holding your breath. Cuz this is the part where you learn who "the hero's heroine" is. _

_Sorry, nope. And once you're done with your little temper tantrum, you can begin reading again. Remember, patience is a virtue._

_So, yes, this is a sad day in the world of singledom. But there are plenty of other fish in the sea, and I'm sure you will all find "Mr. Right" some day. _

_But anyways, I'm going off track. I'm not here to lecture you and attempt to build up your self-esteem so you can go out there and snag you a man. But you should anyways, it's Valentine's Day. You never know, a Cupid might show up to help you out._

_So, after the boxers or briefs question there was the real clencher. Blondes, brunettes, or redheads?_

_Now why on earth would this be the real clencher? I bet you thought the boxers or briefs one was the real clencher. Well, you were wrong. It's this one. And you know why?_

_Cuz this is when my heart stopped._

_Confused? I figured. But no worries, I shall explain._

_Simple… he said redheads. _

_Still confused? Then refer to the top of the page and look to the right of the subtitle…no, no, down a little…now a little to the right…down a bit more…there you go. That's me, Ginny Weasely. Now note the red hair (A/N: I know the pictures are black and white, but let's just pretend, shall we? Thanx)._

_So that's when my heart stopped. _

_But then the next thing was when the explosion occurred. See, when my heart started beating again, I managed to squeak out the next question, "Describe your perfect girl."_

_This is the part where all the singletons _would_ have been taking notes so that they _could_ have become his perfect girl. Well put up the quills you harpies! He's TAKEN!_

_By who, you want to know?_

_Well, in answer, I'll tell you what he said in response to my perfect girl question._

_He said, "Well, for starters, she's sitting right in front of me."_

_Cue exploding heart._

I_ was sitting right in front of him._

_Now do you understand? I thought you might. I told you I knew what I was talking about._

_So, that's how you are now reading an article written by a person who should be suffering from the effects of an early death by an explosion of the heart. That's also why you've had to endure three pages of endless rambling by a very tired and rather preoccupied journalist. It's hard to write when you think you'll be waking up from a dream any second now…_

_But anywho, as surprising as it is for everyone (myself most of all, I have a bruise on my leg from pinching myself so many times) I, Ginevra Molly Weasely, am apparently the "hero's heroine." _

_Yes, I know. I'm shocked as well._

_But, before I go dunk my head in a bucket of ice water so I can be absolutely certain I'm not in an alternate universe, I can give you a firsthand account concerning the most popular question asked of Harry Potter…_

_Yes, ladies and gentlemen, his glasses most definitely DO fog up while snogging._


End file.
